Without a word Mrs. Jenkins returned up-stairs, whither Annette had preceded her, and Thornton Carey led the way into the dining-room, where the three sat in profound silence, interrupted after the interval of a few minutes by Mrs. Jenkins, who entered the room with a very pale face, and addressed Thornton Carey. 'She will see you, sir; she is just getting up, and Annette is dressing her as fast as she can. But--I hope you won't be angry, sir, or think it was my fault--I gave my message as matter-of-fact as could be, and the curtain was between me and her, so she could not see my face; but the very moment she heard you wanted to see her at this hour of the morning, she took fright. I suppose it was because she had not had the English letters that she expected, and that disappointment had told upon her nerves, and helped to make her suspicious. She said she knew there was something wrong. "Go down," said she, "and say I will see him. Bring him up to the boudoir, and let him tell me whatever I have got to hear and bear." Not another word, sir, but she is as white as a corpse.' Thornton Carey had started up before Mrs. Jenkins had got through her first sentence, and turned a face of wild distress upon the other two. 'It cannot be helped,' said Bryan Duval, 'and it is better so. Go up with the good woman at once--for God's sake get it over.' He, too, rose as he spoke, and turning abruptly towards the chimneypiece, laid his arms upon it, and hid his face in them. Miss Montressor sat profoundly still, but the description her sister had just given of Helen might have been repeated of her--she, too, was as pale as a corpse. Thornton Carey and Mrs. Jenkins went up-stairs without exchanging a single word. The door of Helen's boudoir opened in the corridor outside her bedroom. Mrs. Jenkins merely threw it open in passing, and the young man went in, while she entered the bedroom by the other door. No sound reached his strained ear for the few minutes during which he waited. At their expiration Helen came in. She wore a white muslin dressing-gown, and her hair was simply brushed behind her ears, and hung loose upon her shoulders. As she came through the door of her bedroom into the boudoir, she faced Thornton Carey directly, and her first glance at him told her that her fears had been prophetic--that he had bad news to tell. END OF VOL. II. LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. End of Project Gutenberg's The Impending Sword (Vol. 2 of 3), by Edmund Yates