Then a soft, low voice replied: 

“Yes, thank you, Phoebe.  But first give the dressing-bag to the man to take in, and you carry Fidelle.”

“Bub—­bub—­bub—­bub—­but,” stammered the appalled Jovial, with his arms full of lap-dogs and dressing-bags that the woman had forced upon him, “you better some of you send in your names, and see if it won’t be ill-convenient to the fam’ly, afore you ’spects me to denounce a whole coach full of travelers to my masser!  Who is you all, anyhow, young woman?”

“My lady will soon let you know who she is!  Be careful of that dog! you are squeezing her! and here take this shawl, and this bird-cage, and this carpetbag, and these umbrellas,” replied the woman, overwhelming him with luggage.  “Here, coachman! bring that large trunk into the hall!  And come now, my lady; the luggage is all right.”

As for Jovial, he dropped lap-dogs, bird-cages, carpetbags and umbrellas plump upon the hall floor, and rushed into the drawing-room, exclaiming: 

“Masser, it’s an invasion of de Goffs and Wandalls, or some other sich furriners!  And I think the milishy ought to be called out.”

“Don’t be a fool, if you please.  These are travelers who have missed their way, and are in need of shelter this bitter night.  Go at once, and show them in here, and then wake up the housekeeper to prepare refreshments,” said Mr. Brudenell.

“It is not my wishes to act foolish, marser; but it’s enough to constunnate the sensoriest person to be tumbled in upon dis way at dis hour ob de night by a whole raft of strangers—­men, and women, and dogs, and cats, and birds included!” mumbled Jovial, as he went to do his errand.

But his services as gentleman usher seemed not to be needed by the stranger, for as he left the drawing-room a lady entered, followed by a waiting maid.

The lady was clothed in deep mourning, with a thick crape veil concealing her face.

As Herman advanced to welcome her she threw aside her veil, revealing a pale, sad, young face, shaded by thick curls of glossy black hair.

At the sight of that face the young man started back, the pallor of death overspreading his countenance as he sunk upon the nearest sofa, breathing in a dying voice: 

“Berenice!  You here!  Is it you?  Oh, Heaven have pity on us!”

“Phoebe, go and find out the housekeeper, explain who I am, and have my luggage taken up to my apartment.  Then order tea in this room,” said the lady, perhaps with the sole view of getting rid of her attendant; for as soon as the latter had withdrawn she threw oft her bonnet, went to the overwhelmed young man, sat down beside him, put her arms around him, and drew his head down to meet her own, as she said, caressingly: 

“You did not expect me, love?  And my arrival here overcomes you.”

“I thought you had been killed in that railway collision,” came in hoarse and guttural tones from a throat that seemed suddenly parched to ashes.