But, just as I was going up to the door, I was accosted by a lady who came hurriedly forward by a side-path. She held out her hand to stop us before she came up, and full of fanciful alarm as I was, I stopped, startled, with again the sensation of having been found out. She was middle-sized and stout, with a plump, handsome figure and sensible, kind face--very sensible, very kind, not brilliant at all; and, I think, with as much perplexed thought and anxiety upon it, as there was on mine. “Don’t go into the lodge with the baby, please,” she cried, as soon as she was near; “the little girl has the hooping-cough. It’s always best to keep out of the way of danger. If I can tell you what you want, shall be very glad. I see you’re a stranger; or if you want to see Mrs. Williams, send away the baby, please. Hooping-cough’s very catching, and it’s hard upon such a young child.” This voice and this speech completely overpowered me. I could not doubt for a moment that this was one of the Miss Mortimers. I was no longer a mere spy; I was an unnatural traitor. I motioned Lizzie with my hand to go away, but stood still speechless myself, the tears rising to my eyes. The lady stood waiting to see what I wanted, but discovering my distress, as some people can, came a little closer to me. “Are you ill? can I help you in anything?” she said, looking very pitifully and kindly into my wet eyes. “No, thank you. I was going to ask if I might look at the Park; but I must make haste after baby,” I cried. I had the impulse to curtsey to her as children do; for anything I know I did it. The only thing that I am certain of is, that as fast as my feet would carry me, I hastened away. CHAPTER XI. We were able to get the same omnibus going home, which I was very glad of, for the strange defeat I had received made me feel doubly weary with the walk, which, after all, had not been a very long one. There was only one person in this omnibus, which was not a town omnibus, you know, but one which went between Chester and an important village, seven or eight miles off. He was an elderly man, very well dressed in black, with a white cravat. To tell the plain truth, I took him for a dissenting preacher by his dress; and as he looked very serious and respectable, and was very polite in helping us to get in, we had some little conversation after a while. When he saw me look at the houses we passed with an appearance of interest, he told me the names of them, or who they belonged to. He was exceedingly polite and deferential, so polite that he called me ma’am, which sounded odd; but I could only suppose he was an old-fashioned person and liked such antiquated ways of expression. I confess a suspicion of his real condition never crossed my mind. But he evidently knew everybody, and after a while my prevailing idea woke up again.