answered Lady Isabel.

"Tea and some cold meat?" suggested Joyce. But Lady Isabel interrupted
her.

"Nothing but tea and a little cold toast."

Joyce rang the bell, ordered the refreshment to be made ready, and then
preceded Lady Isabel upstairs. On she followed her heart palpitating;
past the rooms that used to be hers, along the corridor, toward the
second staircase. The door of her old dressing-room stood open, and she
glanced in with a yearning look. No, never more, never more could it
be hers; she had put it from her by her own free act and deed. Not less
comfortable did it look now than in former days, but it had passed into
another's occupancy. The fire threw its blaze on the furniture. There
were the little ornaments on the large dressing-table, as they used
to be in _her_ time; and the cut glass of crystal essence-bottles was
glittering in the firelight. On the sofa lay a shawl and a book, and on
the bed a silk dress, as thrown there after being taken off. No,
those rooms were not for her now, and she followed Joyce up the
other staircase. The bedroom she was shown to was commodious and well
furnished. It was the one Miss Carlyle had occupied when she, Isabella,
had been taken a bride to East Lynne, though that lady had subsequently
quitted it for one on the lower floor. Joyce put down the waxlight she
carried and looked round.

"Would you like a fire lighted here, madame, for to-night? Perhaps it
will feel welcome after travelling."

"Oh, no, thank you," was the answer.

Stephen, with somebody to help him, was bringing up the luggage. Joyce
directed him where to place it, telling him to uncord the boxes. That
done, the man left the room, and Joyce turned to Lady Isabel, who had
stood like a statue, never so much as attempting to remove her bonnet.

"Can I do anything for you, madame?" she asked.

Lady Isabel declined. In the first moments of her arrival she was
dreading detection--how was it possible that she should not--and she
feared Joyce's keen eyes more, perhaps than she feared any others. She
was only wishing that the girl would go down.

"Should you want anything, please to ring, and Hannah will come up,"
said Joyce, preparing to retire. "She is the maid who waits upon the
gray parlor, and will do anything you like up here."

Joyce had quitted the room, and Lady Isabel had got her bonnet off,
when the door opened again. She hastily thrust it on, somewhat after the
fashion of Richard Hare's r