Barely a week passed after those words had been spoken, before an event happened which reminded Agnes of ‘the terrible woman’ once more.

On that day, Henry’s engagements had obliged him to return to London.  He had ventured, on the morning of his departure, to press his suit once more on Agnes; and the children, as he had anticipated, proved to be innocent obstacles in the way of his success.  On the other hand, he had privately secured a firm ally in his sister-in-law.  ‘Have a little patience,’ the new Lady Montbarry had said, ’and leave me to turn the influence of the children in the right direction.  If they can persuade her to listen to you—­ they shall!’

The two ladies had accompanied Henry, and some other guests who went away at the same time, to the railway station, and had just driven back to the house, when the servant announced that ‘a person of the name of Rolland was waiting to see her ladyship.’

‘Is it a woman?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Young Lady Montbarry turned to Agnes.

‘This is the very person,’ she said, ’whom your lawyer thought likely to help him, when he was trying to trace the lost courier.’

’You don’t mean the English maid who was with Lady Montbarry at Venice?’

’My dear! don’t speak of Montbarry’s horrid widow by the name which is my name now.  Stephen and I have arranged to call her by her foreign title, before she was married.  I am “Lady Montbarry,” and she is “the Countess.”  In that way there will be no confusion.—­ Yes, Mrs. Rolland was in my service before she became the Countess’s maid.  She was a perfectly trustworthy person, with one defect that obliged me to send her away—­a sullen temper which led to perpetual complaints of her in the servants’ hall.  Would you like to see her?’

Agnes accepted the proposal, in the faint hope of getting some information for the courier’s wife.  The complete defeat of every attempt to trace the lost man had been accepted as final by Mrs. Ferrari.  She had deliberately arrayed herself in widow’s mourning; and was earning her livelihood in an employment which the unwearied kindness of Agnes had procured for her in London.  The last chance of penetrating the mystery of Ferrari’s disappearance seemed to rest now on what Ferrari’s former fellow-servant might be able to tell.  With highly-wrought expectations, Agnes followed her friend into the room in which Mrs. Rolland was waiting.

A tall bony woman, in the autumn of life, with sunken eyes and iron-grey hair, rose stiffly from her chair, and saluted the ladies with stern submission as they opened the door.  A person of unblemished character, evidently—­but not without visible drawbacks.  Big bushy eyebrows, an awfully deep and solemn voice, a harsh unbending manner, a complete absence in her figure of the undulating lines characteristic of the sex, presented Virtue in this excellent person under its least alluring aspect.  Strangers, on a first introduction to her, were accustomed to wonder why she was not a man.