‘Only one lady, and she seems to have fainted. She looked very white when I opened the door. What is to be done, madam?’ Miss Laury answered directly: ‘Bring her into the house. Let the horses be taken to the stables. And the servants: how many are there?’ ‘Three, madam: two postillions and a footman.’ ‘Do you know the liveries?’ ‘Can’t say, madam. Postillions in grey and white, footman in plain clothes. Horses frightened at a drove of Sydenham oxen, they say: very spirited nags.’ ‘Well, you have my orders: bring the lady in directly, and make the others comfortable.’ ‘Yes, madam.’ The groom touched his hat and departed. Miss Laury shut her window. It was very cold. Not many minutes elapsed before the lady in the arms of her own servants was slowly brought up the lawn and ushered into the drawing-room. ‘Lay her on the sofa,’ said Miss Laury. She was obeyed. The lady’s travelling-cloak was carefully removed and a thin figure became apparent in a dark silk dress. The cushions of down scarcely sank under the pressure, it was so slight. Her swoon was now passing off. The genial warmth of the fire which shone full on her revived her. Opening her eyes she looked up at Miss Laury, who was now bending close over her and wetting her lips with some cordial. Recognizing a stranger she shyly turned her glance aside and asked for her servants. ‘They are in the house, madam, and perfectly safe. But you cannot pursue your journey at present: the carriage is much broken.’ The lady lay silent. She looked keenly round the room, and seeing the perfect elegance of its arrangement, the cheerful and tranquil glow of its hearth-light, she appeared to grow more composed. Turning a little on the cushions which supported her, and by no means looking at Miss Laury, but straight the other way, she said: ‘To whom am I indebted for this kindness? Where am I?’ ‘In a hospitable country, madam; the Angrians never turn their backs on strangers.’ ‘I know I am in Angria,’ she said quickly, ‘but where? What is the name of the house? Who are you?’ Miss Laury coloured slightly; it seemed as if there was some undefined reluctance to give her real name. ‘I am only the housekeeper,’ she said. ‘This is a shooting-lodge belonging to a great Angrian proprietor.’ ‘Who?’ asked the lady, who was not to be put off by indirect answers. Again Miss Laury hesitated. She replied hastily: ‘A gentleman of Western extraction: a distant branch of the great Pakenhams. So at least the family records say; but they have been long naturalized in the Kast.’ ‘I never heard of them,’ replied the lady. ‘Pakenham! That is not an Angrian name?’ ‘Perhaps, madam, you are not particularly acquainted with this part of the country?’ ‘I know Hawkscliffe,’ said the lady, ‘and your house is on the very borders, within the Royal Liberties; is it not?’