There was something so irresistibly winning in the sound, that it drew forth an answer from the maiden’s very heart.  “Oh! yes, indeed—­” and before she could utter another word she was snatched into a sudden, warm, vehement embrace, from which she was only partly released, as—­near, but still not so near as she would have expected—­this extraordinary suitor seemed to remonstrate with his ardent self, saying, “Now! now! that will do!  So be it then, my child,” he continued.  “Great will be the need of faith, patience, trust, ay, and of self-restraint, but let these be practised for a little space, and all will be well.”

She scarcely heard the latter words.  The sense of something irrevocable and unfathomable was overpowering her.  The mystery of these sudden alterations of voice, now near, now far off, was intolerable.  Here were hands claiming her, fervent, eager breathings close upon her, and that serious, pensive voice going on all that time.  The darkness grew dreadful to her, dizziness came over her; she dashed aside the hands, started up with a scream, and amid the strange noises and flashes of a swoon, knew no more till she heard Mrs. Aylward’s voice over her, found the horrid smell of burnt feathers under her nose, and water trickling down her face, dim candlelight was round her, and she perceived that she was on a low settee in the lobby.

“There, she is coming round.  You may tell your master, Jumbo, ’twas nothing but the mince pies.”

“Oh, no—­” began Aurelia, but her own voice seemed to come from somewhere else, and being inexperienced in fainting, she was frightened.

“That is right, you are better.  Now, a drop of strong waters.”

Aurelia choked, and put them aside, but was made to swallow the draught, and revived enough to ask, “How came I here?”

“Jumbo must have carried you out, ma’am, and laid you here before ever he called any one,” said Mrs. Aylward.  “Dear, dear, to think of your being taken like that.  But the tins of those mince-pies are over large!  You must halve one next time.”

Aurelia was sensible enough to the reproof of greediness to begin to protest against the mince-pie theory, but she recollected that she could not account for her swoon, and thereupon became as red as she had been pale, thus confirming the housekeeper’s opinion.  A sound of footsteps made her start up and cry, “What’s that?” in nervous fright; but Mrs. Aylward declared it was fancy, and as she was by this time able to walk, she was conducted to her own room.  There she was examined on her recent diet, and was compelled to allow the housekeeper to ascribe her illness to neglect of autumnal blood-letting and medicine; and she only stave off the send for the barber and his lancet the next morning by promising to swallow a dose compounded of all that was horrible.