As if in mockery of the humble visitor, the footman threw open both battants of the door, and in the opening there stood a lithe, wiry lad, with a thick head of hair, standing out in every direction, as if stirred by some electrical current, a short, brown face, red now from affright and excitement, wide, resolute mouth, and bright, deep-set eyes, which glanced keenly and rapidly round the room, as if taking in everything (and all was new and strange), to be thought and puzzled over at some future time.  He knew enough of manners not to speak first to one above him in rank, or else he was afraid.

“What do you want with me?” asked my lady; in so gentle a tone that it seemed to surprise and stun him.

“An’t please your ladyship?” said he, as if he had been deaf.

“You come from Mr. Horner’s:  why do you want to see me?” again asked she, a little more loudly.

“An’t please your ladyship, Mr. Horner was sent for all on a sudden to Warwick this morning.”

His face began to work; but he felt it, and closed his lips into a resolute form.

“Well?”

“And he went off all on a sudden like.”

“Well?”

“And he left a note for your ladyship with me, your ladyship.”

“Is that all?  You might have given it to the footman.”

“Please your ladyship, I’ve clean gone and lost it.”

He never took his eyes off her face.  If he had not kept his look fixed, he would have burst out crying.

“That was very careless,” said my lady gently.  “But I am sure you are very sorry for it.  You had better try and find it; it may have been of consequence.

“Please, mum—­please your ladyship—­I can say it off by heart.”

“You!  What do you mean?” I was really afraid now.  My lady’s blue eyes absolutely gave out light, she was so much displeased, and, moreover, perplexed.  The more reason he had for affright, the more his courage rose.  He must have seen,—­so sharp a lad must have perceived her displeasure; but he went on quickly and steadily.

“Mr. Horner, my lady, has taught me to read, write, and cast accounts, my lady.  And he was in a hurry, and he folded his paper up, but he did not seal it; and I read it, my lady; and now, my lady, it seems like as if I had got it off by heart;” and he went on with a high pitched voice, saying out very loud what, I have no doubt, were the identical words of the letter, date, signature and all:  it was merely something about a deed, which required my lady’s signature.

When he had done, he stood almost as if he expected commendation for his accurate memory.

My lady’s eyes contracted till the pupils were as needle-points; it was a way she had when much disturbed.  She looked at me and said—­

“Margaret Dawson, what will this world come to?” And then she was silent.