"Ah, just so. Jeffreys," resuming her old purring manner as the maid appeared, "this young lady has a friend in trouble, and wants me to go down to the cottage with her. Keep it from your mistress if you can, for she hates hearing of anything sad; say we are busy,--I shall be in to tea,--anything. I know you will be discreet, Jeffreys." "Yes, ma'am," returned Jeffreys, adjusting the shawl over Miss Mewlstone's shoulders; "but this is your garden-shawl, surely?" "Oh, it does not matter; it will do very well. Now Miss Challoner, I am ready." And so noiseless and rapid were her movements that Phillis had much to do to keep up with her. "Won't you listen to me?" she pleaded. "Dear Miss Mewlstone, it is no made-up story; it is all true;" but to her astonishment, Miss Mewlstone faced round upon her in a most indignant manner: "Be silent, child! I cannot, and will not, hear any more. How should you know anything about it? Have you ever seen Herbert Cheyne? You are the tool of some impostor. But I will guard Magdalene; she shall not be driven mad. No, no, poor dear! she shall not, as long as she has old Bathsheba to watch over her." And Phillis, in despair, very wisely held her peace. After all she was a stranger: had she any proof but Mr. Dancy's word? Just towards the last, Miss Mewlstone's pace slackened; and her hand shook so, as she tried to unlatch the little gate, that Phillis was obliged to come to her assistance. The cottage door stood open as usual, but there was no tall figure lurking in the background,--no shadow on the blind. "We had better go in there," whispered Phillis, pointing to the closed door of the parlor; and Miss Mewlstone, without knocking, at once turned the handle and went in, while Phillis followed trembling. "Well, sir," said Miss Mewlstone, sternly, "I have come to know what you mean by imposing your story on this child." Mr. Dancy, who was standing with his back to them, leaning for support against the little mantle-shelf, did not answer for a moment; and then he turned slowly round, and looked at her. "Oh, Barby!" he said; "don't you recollect me?" And then he held out his thin hands to her imploringly, and added "Dear old Barby! but you are not a bit changed." "Herbert--why, good heavens! Ah, just so--just so," gasped the poor lady, rather feebly, as she sat down, feeling her limbs were deserting her, and every scrap of color left her face. Indeed, she looked so flabby and lifeless that Phillis was alarmed and flew to her assistance; only Mr. Cheyne waved her aside rather impatiently. "Let her be; she is all right. She knows me, you see: so I cannot be so much altered. Barby," he went on, in a coaxing voice, as he knelt beside her and chafed her hands, "you thought I was an impostor, and were coming to threaten me: were you not? But now you see Miss Challoner was in the right. Have you not got a word for me? Won't you talk to me about Magdalene? We have got to prepare her, you know."