“What do you mean?” inquired Salome, in low, tremulous tones.

“My lady—­grace, I mean! will you send your maid away?  What I have to tell you, must be told to you alone,” whispered the visitor.

“Margaret, you may retire.  I will ring when I want you,” said the young duchess.

And her maid, disgusted, for her curiosity had been strongly aroused, left the room and closed the door.  And, as Margaret had too much self-respect to listen at the key-hole, she remained in ignorance of what passed between the young duchess and the uncanny visitor.

“Your strange words trouble me,” said Salome, as soon as she found herself alone with her visitor.

“Ay, my lady, your grace, I know it.  And I am sorry for it.  But I cannot help it.  And, indeed, I’m very much afeared as I shall trouble you more afore I am done.”

“Then pray proceed.  Tell me at once all you have to tell.  And permit me to remind you that my time is limited,” urged the young duchess.

“Ay, madam, my lady—­grace, I mean.  But grant me your pardon if I repeat that there is indeed no hurry.  You will not take the tidal train to Dover.  Not if you be the Christian lady as I take you for,” gravely replied the visitor.

“I must really insist upon your speaking out plainly and at once,” said Salome, with more of firmness than she had as yet exhibited, although her pale cheeks grew a shade paler.

“My lady—­your grace, I should say—­when I started to come here this morning, to bring you the news I have to tell, my heart was that full of anger against him and you, for the deep wrongs done to one I know and love, that I did not care how suddenly I told it, or how awfully it might shock you.  But now that I see you, dear lady—­grace, I mean—­I do hate myself for having of such a tale to tell.  But, for all that—­for your sake as well as for hers, I must tell it,” said the woman, solemnly.

“For Heaven’s sake, go on!  What is it you have to tell me?” inquired the bride, in a fainting voice.

“Well, then, your lady, my grace—­Oh, dear!  I know that ain’t the right way to speak, but—­”

“No matter! no matter!  Only tell me what you have to tell and have done with it!” said Salome, impatiently at last.

“Well, then—­I beg ten thousand pardons, my lady, but did your ladyship ever hear tell, up your way in Scotland, of a very handsome young woman of the lower orders, by the name of Rose Cameron?”

“Yes, I have heard of such a girl,” answered the bride, in a low tone, averting her face.

“I thought your ladyship must have heard of her.  And now—­I beg a million of pardons, my lady—­but did your ladyship ever happen to hear of a certain person’s name mentioned alongside of hers?”

“I decline to answer a question so improper.  What can such a question have to do with your present business?” inquired the bride, with more of gentle dignity than we have ever known her to assume.