Nora hesitated, shivered, and gasped; but could not then ask the

question that was to confirm her fate; it was worse than throwing the

dice upon which a whole fortune was staked; it was like giving the

signal for the ax to fall upon her own neck. At last, however, it came,

in low, fearful, but distinct words: "Madam, are you the wife of Mr. Herman Brudenell?"

"Nora Worth, how dare you? Leave the room and the house this instant,

before I send for a constable and have you taken away?" exclaimed Mrs.

Brudenell, violently pulling at the bell-cord.

"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.




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