"Now, sure as the world, honey, you done heard somefin 'bout de poor young marser? Is he come to an accident, honey?" inquired the man very uneasily. "Who?" questioned Nora vaguely. "The young marser, honey; Mr. Herman Brudenell, chile!" "What of him?" cried Nora--a sharp new anxiety added to her woe. "Why, law, honey, aint I just been a-telling of you? In one half an hour arter de forein lady tumbled in, young marse lef' de house an' haint been seen nor heard on since. I t'ought maybe you'd might a hearn what's become of him. It is mighty hard on her, poor young creatur, to be fairly forsok de very night she come." "Ah!" cried Nora, in the sharp tones of pain--"take me to that lady at once! I must, must see her! I must hear from her own lips--the truth!" "Come along then, chile! Sure as the worl' you has hearn somefin, dough you won't tell me; for I sees it in your face; you's as white as a sheet, an' all shakin' like a leaf an' ready to drop down dead! You won't let on to me; but mayhaps you may to her," said Jovial, as he led the way along the lighted halls to the drawing-room door, which, he opened, announcing: "Here's Miss Nora Worth, mistess, come to see Lady Hurt-my-soul." And as soon as Nora, more like a ghost than a living creature, had glided in, he shut the door, went down on his knees outside and applied his ear to the key-hole. Meanwhile Nora found herself once more in the gorgeously furnished, splendidly decorated, and brilliantly lighted drawing room that had been the scene of her last night's humiliation. But she did not think of that now, in this supreme crisis of her fate. Straight before her, opposite the door by which she entered, was an interesting tableau, in a dazzling light--it was a sumptuous fireside picture--the coal-fire glowing between the polished steel bars of the wide grate, the white marble mantel-piece, and above that, reaching to the lofty ceiling, a full-length portrait of Herman Brudenell; before the fire an inlaid mosaic table, covered with costly books, work-boxes, hand-screens, a vase of hot-house flowers, and other elegant trifles of luxury; on the right of this, in a tall easy-chair, sat Mrs. Brudenell; on this side sat the Misses Brudenell; these three ladies were all dressed in slight mourning, if black silk dresses and white lace collars can be termed such; and they were all engaged in the busy idleness of crochet work; but on a luxurious crimson velvet sofa, drawn up to the left side of the fire, reclined a lady dressed in the deepest mourning, and having her delicate pale, sad face half veiled by her long, soft black ringlets. While Nora gazed breathlessly upon this pretty creature, whom she recognized at once as the stranger, Mrs. Brudenell slowly raised her head and stared at Nora.