“I do not know any such person,” said the young duchess, slowly, while that vague shadow of impending calamity gathered over her spirit more darkly and heavily than before.

“Thomas, the hall footman, brought me the message from the woman, your grace, and I went down to see her myself before troubling you.  I thought she might be only a bolder begger than usual.  But she is no begger, your grace.  She looks respectable,” answered the girl.

“Go to the woman and explain to her that I have no time to see her now, and ask her if she cannot intrust her business to you to be brought to me,” said the duchess.

The maid courtesied and left the room.

“What is it?  What is it?  Why does every unusual event strike such deadly terror to my heart?” inquired the bride, as she sank, pale and trembling, into her resting-chair.

In a few minutes the door opened and Margaret re-appeared.

“I beg your grace’s pardon, but the old woman is very obstinate and persistent.  She will not tell me her business.  She says it is with your grace alone; that it concerns your grace most of all; that it is a matter of more importance than life or death; and that—­indeed I beg your pardon, your grace—­but I do not like to deliver the rest of her message, it seems so impertinent,” said the girl, blushing and casting down her eyes.

“Nevertheless, deliver it.  I will excuse you.  The impertinence will not be yours,” said the bride, as a cold chill struck her heart.

“Then, your grace, she seized me by the two shoulders and looked me straight in the face, and said—­’Tell your mistress, if she would save herself from utter ruin, she will see me and hear what I have to tell her, before she sees the Duke of Hereward again!’” answered the girl, in a low tone.

“‘Before I see the Duke of Hereward again.’  Ah, what is it?  What is it?” murmured the bewildered bride to herself.  Then she spoke to Margaret.  “Bring the woman up here.  I will see her at once.”

Once more the girl obediently left the room.

The young bride covered her pale face with her hands, and trembled with dread of—­she knew not what!

A few minutes passed.  The door opened again, and Margaret re-appeared, ushering in Rose Cameron’s housekeeper.

Salome looked up.

CHAPTER XV.

THE CLOUD FALLS.

When Rose Cameron’s emissary entered the bride’s chamber, the young duchess arose from her chair, but almost instantly sank back again, overpowered by an access of that mysterious foreshadowing of approaching calamity which had darkened her spirit during the whole of this, her bridal day.

And it was better, perhaps, that this should be so, as it prepared her to sustain the shock which might otherwise have proved fatal to one of her nervous and sensitive organization.

She looked up from her resting-chair, and saw, standing, courtesying before her, a weary, careworn, elderly woman, in a rusty black bonnet, shawl, and gown.  No very alarming intruder to contemplate.