ou! Have you got it there? Just get it,
and bring it to me at once."

"I hope your ladyship does not blame me. I was only obeying orders."

"Get it, please, and don't talk." Her ladyship was rather incensed with
the young woman, but not for obeying orders. It was because of the
attempt to minimise the letter. It was just like Lutwyche. Nothing would
make that woman _really_ truthful!

Lutwyche caught up the party, which had not stopped for the finding of
the letter, at the drawing-room door. Gwen opened it as she entered the
room, saying, to anyone within hearing:--"Excuse my reading this." She
dropped on a sofa at hand, close to a chandelier rich with wax lights in
the lampless drawing-room. Percy Pellew and his _fiancee_ stood waiting
to share the letter's contents, if permitted.

The world, engaged with its own affairs, took no notice. The Earl and
the General were listening to tales of Canada from Sir Spencer Derrick.
The Countess was pretending to listen to other versions of the same
tales from that gentleman's wife. The others were talking about the war,
or Louis Napoleon, or Florence Nightingale, or hoping the frost would
continue, because nothing was more odious than a thaw in the country.
One guest became very unpopular by maintaining that a thaw had already
set in, alleging infallible instincts needing no confirmation from
thermometers.

The Countess had said, speaking at her daughter across the room:--"I
hope we are going to have some music;" and the Colonel had said:--"Ah,
give us a song, Gwen;" without eliciting any notice from their
beautiful hearer, before anyone but Miss Dickenson and Mr. Pellew
noticed the effect this letter was producing. Then the Earl, glancing at
the reader's face, saw, even from where he sat, how white it had become,
and how tense was its expression. He caught Mr. Pellew's attention. "Do
you know what it is, Percy?" said he. Mr. Pellew crossed the room
quickly, to reply under his breath:--"I am afraid it is some bad news of
her old lady at Chorlton.... Oh no--not _that_"--for the Earl had made
the syllable _dead_ with his lips, inaudibly--"but an alarm of some
sort. The doctor's housekeeper there brought the letter."

The Earl left Mr. Pellew, reiterating what he had said to the General,
and went over to his daughter. "Let me have it to see," said he, and
took the letter from her. He read little scraps, half-aloud, "'Was much
better all yesterday, but improvement has not conti