Tom ushered a bunch of black satin into the room.

“Mrs. Berry!” said Lucy, running up to her and kissing her.

“Me, my darlin’!” Mrs. Berry, breathless and rosy with her journey, returned the salute.  “Me truly it is, in fault of a better, for I ain’t one to stand by and give the devil his licence—­roamin’! and the salt sure enough have spilte my bride-gown at the beginnin’, which ain’t the best sign.  Bless ye!—­Oh, here he is.”  She beheld a male figure in a chair by the half light, and swung around to address him.  “You bad man!” she held aloft one of her fat fingers, “I’ve come on ye like a bolt, I have, and goin’ to make ye do your duty, naughty boy!  But your my darlin’ babe,” she melted, as was her custom, “and I’ll never meet you and not give to ye the kiss of a mother.”

Before Lord Mountfalcon could find time to expostulate the soft woman had him by the neck, and was down among his luxurious whiskers.

“Ha!” She gave a smothered shriek, and fell back.  “What hair’s that?”

Tom Bakewell just then illumined the transaction.

“Oh, my gracious!” Mrs. Berry breathed with horror, “I been and kiss a strange man!”

Lucy, half-laughing, but in dreadful concern, begged the noble lord to excuse the woful mistake.

“Extremely flattered, highly favoured, I’m sure;” said his lordship, re-arranging his disconcerted moustache; “may I beg the pleasure of an introduction?”

“My husband’s dear old nurse—­Mrs. Berry,” said Lucy, taking her hand to lend her countenance.  “Lord Mountfalcon, Mrs. Berry.”

Mrs. Berry sought grace while she performed a series of apologetic bobs, and wiped the perspiration from her forehead.

Lucy put her into a chair:  Lord Mountfalcon asked for an account of her passage over to the Island; receiving distressingly full particulars, by which it was revealed that the softness of her heart was only equalled by the weakness of her stomach.  The recital calmed Mrs. Berry down.

“Well, and where’s my—­where’s Mr. Richard? yer husband, my dear?” Mrs. Berry turned from her tale to question.

“Did you expect to see him here?” said Lucy, in a broken voice.

“And where else, my love? since he haven’t been seen in London a whole fortnight.”

Lucy did not speak.

“We will dismiss the Emperor Julian till to-morrow, I think,” said Lord Mountfalcon, rising and bowing.

Lucy gave him her hand with mute thanks.  He touched it distantly, embraced Mrs. Berry in a farewell bow, and was shown out of the house by Tom Bakewell.

The moment he was gone, Mrs. Berry threw up her arms.  “Did ye ever know sich a horrid thing to go and happen to a virtuous woman!” she exclaimed.  “I could cry at it, I could!  To be goin’ and kissin’ a strange hairy man!  Oh dear me! what’s cornin’ next, I wonder?  Whiskers! thinks I—­for I know the touch o’ whiskers—­’t ain’t like other hair—­what! have he growed a crop that sudden, I says to myself; and it flashed on me I been and made a awful mistake! and the lights come in, and I see that great hairy man—­beggin’ his pardon—­nobleman, and if I could ’a dropped through the floor out o’ sight o’ men, drat ’em! they’re al’ays in the way, that they are!”—­