“Name o’ de law, Miss Nora, dis you?  What de matter?  Is you clean tuk leave of your senses to be a-comin’ up here, dis hour of de night in snowstorm?” he cried.

“Let me in, Jovial!  Is Mr. Herman Brudenell at home?” gasped Nora, as without waiting for an answer she pushed past him and sunk into the nearest chair.

“Marser Bredinell home?  No, miss!  Nor likewise been home since late last night.  He went away’ mediately arter interdoocing de young madam to de ole one; which she tumbled in upon us with a whole raft of waiting maids, and men, and dogs, and birds, and gold fishes, and debil knows what all besides, long arter midnight last night—­and so he hasn’t been hearn on since, and de fambly is in de greatest ’stress and anxiety.  Particular she, poor thing, as comed so far to see him!  And we no more s’picioning as he had a wife, nor anything at all, ’til she tumbled right in on top of us!  Law, Miss Nora, somefin werry particular must have fetch you out in de snow to-night, and ’deed you do look like you had heard bad news!  Has you hearn anything ’bout him, honey?”

“Is it true, then?” moaned Nora, in a dying tone, without heeding his last question.

“Which true, honey?”

“About the foreign lady coming here last night and claiming to be his wife?”

“As true as gospel, honey—­which you may judge the astonishment is put on to us all.”

“Jovial, where is the lady?”

“Up in de drawing-room, honey, if she has not ’tired to her chamber.”

“Show me up there, Jovial, I must see her for myself,” Nora wailed, with her head fallen upon her chest.

“Now, sure as the world, honey, you done heard somefin ’bout de poor young marser?  Is he come to an accident, honey?” inquired the man very uneasily.

“Who?” questioned Nora vaguely.

“The young marser, honey; Mr. Herman Brudenell, chile!”

“What of him?” cried Nora—­a sharp new anxiety added to her woe.

“Why, law, honey, aint I just been a-telling of you?  In one half an hour arter de forein lady tumbled in, young marse lef’ de house an’ haint been seen nor heard on since.  I t’ought maybe you’d might a hearn what’s become of him.  It is mighty hard on her, poor young creatur, to be fairly forsok de very night she come.”

“Ah!” cried Nora, in the sharp tones of pain—­“take me to that lady at once!  I must, must see her!  I must hear from her own lips—­the truth!”

“Come along then, chile!  Sure as the worl’ you has hearn somefin, dough you won’t tell me; for I sees it in your face; you’s as white as a sheet, an’ all shakin’ like a leaf an’ ready to drop down dead!  You won’t let on to me; but mayhaps you may to her,” said Jovial, as he led the way along the lighted halls to the drawing-room door, which, he opened, announcing: 

“Here’s Miss Nora Worth, mistess, come to see Lady Hurt-my-soul.”

And as soon as Nora, more like a ghost than a living creature, had glided in, he shut the door, went down on his knees outside and applied his ear to the key-hole.