“What is that person--that woman?” cried Lady de Brantefield, who now heard and saw the orange-woman for the first time. “Woman!--is it me she manes?” said the orange-woman, coming forward quite composedly, shouldering on her cloak. “Is it who I am?--I’m the Widow Levy.--Any commands?” “How did she get in?” continued Lady de Brantefield, still with a look of mixed pride and terror: “how did she get in?” “Very asy!--through the door--same way you did, my lady, if ye had your senses. Where’s the wonder? But what commands?--don’t be keeping of me.” “Anne!--Lady Anne!--Did she follow us in?” said Lady de Brantefield. “Follow yees!--not I!--no follower of yours nor the likes. But what commands, nevertheless?--I’ll do your business the night, for the sake of them I love in my heart’s core,” nodding at Mr. and Miss Montenero; “so, my lady, I’ll bring ye word, faithful, how it’s going with ye at home--which is her house, and where, on God’s earth?” added she, turning to the footmen. “If my satisfaction be the object, sir, or madam,” said Lady de Brantefield, addressing herself with much solemnity to Mr. and Miss Montenero, “I must take leave to request that a fitter messenger be sent; I should, in any circumstances, be incapable of trusting to the representations of such a person.” The fury of the orange-woman kindled--her eyes flashed fire--her arms a-kimbo, she advanced repeating, “Fitter!--Fitter!--What’s that ye say?--You’re not Irish--not a bone in your skeleton!” Lady Anne screamed. Mr. Montenero forced the orange-woman back, and Berenice and I hurried Lady de Brantefield and her daughter across the hall into the eating-room. Mr. Montenero followed an instant afterwards, telling Lady de Brantefield that he had despatched one of his own servants for intelligence. Her ladyship bowed her head without speaking. He then explained why the orange-woman happened to be in his house, and spoke of the zeal and ability with which she had this day served us. Lady de Brantefield continued at intervals to bow her head while Mr. Montenero spoke, and to look at her watch, while Lady Anne, simpering, repeated, “Dear, how odd!” Then placing herself opposite to a large mirror, Lady Anne re-adjusted her dress. That settled, she had nothing to do but to recount her horrors over again. Her mother, lost in reverie, sat motionless. Berenice, meantime, while the messenger was away, made the most laudable and kind efforts, by her conversation, to draw the attention of her guests from themselves and their apprehensions; but apparently without effect, and certainly without thanks. At length, Berenice and her father being called out of the room, I was left alone with Lady de Brantefield and Lady Anne: the mother broke silence, and turning to the daughter, said, in a most solemn tone of reproach, “Anne! Lady Anne Mowbray!--how could you bring me into this house of all others--a Jew’s--when you know the horror I have always felt--”