Part 21 (2/2)

”Mamma, she is insane, poor thing! do not be hard on her,” said Lady Hurstmonceux gently; and then turning to poor Nora she answered, in the manner of one humoring a maniac:

”Yes, my poor girl, I am the wife of Mr. Herman Brudenell. Can I do anything for you?”

”Nothing, madam,” was the answer that came sad, sweet, and low as the wail of an Aeolian harp swept by the south wind.

The stranger lady's eyes were bent with deep pity upon her; but before she could speak again Mrs. Brudenell broke into the discourse by exclaiming:

”Do not speak to her, Berenice! I warned you not to let her speak to you, but you would not take my advice, and now you have been insulted.”

”But, mamma, she is insane, poor thing; some great misery has turned her brain; I am very sorry for her,” said the kind-hearted stranger.

”I tell you she is not! She is as sane as you are! Look at her! Not in that amazed, pitying manner, but closely and critically, and you will see what she is; one of those low creatures who are the shame of women and the scorn of men. And if she has misery for her portion, she has brought it upon herself, and it is a just punishment.”

The eyes of Lady Hurstmonceux turned again upon the unfortunate young creature before her, and this time she did examine her attentively, letting her gaze rove over her form.

This time Nora did not lift up her hands to cover her burning face; that marble face could never burn or blush again; since speaking her last words Nora had remained standing like one in a trance, stone still, with her head fallen upon her breast, and her arms hanging listlessly by her side. She seemed dead to all around her.

Not so Lady Hurstmonceux; as her eyes roved over this form of stone her pale face suddenly flushed, her dark eyes flashed, and she sprang up from the sofa, asking the same question that Mrs. Brudenell had put the evening before.

”Girl! what is it to you whether Mr. Brudenell has a wife or not? What are you to Mr. Herman Brudenell?”

”Nothing, madam; nothing for evermore,” wailed Nora, without looking up or changing her posture.

”Humph! I am glad to hear it, I am sure!” grunted Mrs. Brudenell.

”Nothing? you say; nothing?” questioned Lady Hurstmonceux.

”Nothing in this world, madam; nothing whatever! so be at ease.” It was another wail of the storm-swept heart-strings.

”I truly believe you; I ought to have believed without asking you; but who, then, has been your betrayer, my poor girl?” inquired the young matron in tones of deepest pity.

This question at length shook the statue; a storm pa.s.sed through her; she essayed to speak, but her voice failed.

”Tell me, poor one; and I will do what I can to right your wrongs. Who is it?”

”Myself!” moaned Nora, closing her eyes as if to shut out all light and life, while a spasm drew back the corners of her mouth and convulsed her face.

”Enough of this, Berenice! You forget the girls!” said Mrs. Brudenell, putting her hand to the bell and ringing again.

”I beg your pardon, madam; I did indeed forget the presence of the innocent and happy in looking upon the erring and wretched,” said Lady Hurstmonceux.

”That will do,” said the elder lady. ”Here is Jovial at last! Why did you not come when I first rang?” she demanded of the negro, who now stood in the door.

”I 'clare, mist'ess, I never heerd it de fust time, madam.”

”Keep your ears open in future, or it will be the worse for you! And now what excuse can you offer for disobeying my express orders, and not only admitting this creature to the house, but even bringing her to our presence?” demanded the lady severely.

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