, alarmed, yet unwilling to be unkind to the
poor recluse, while she hoped that decorum and propriety would put the
visit out of the question. She replied that she would ask Mrs. Aylward
whether she might, and Jumbo followed her to the still-room, saying on
the way, "Mas'r heard Miss Delavie sing. He always has the window opened
to hear her. It makes him hum the air--be merry. He has not asked to
speak with lady since he heard the bad news--long, long, ago."

Then Aurelia felt that nothing short of absolute impropriety ought to
make her gratify her shrinking reluctance. Mrs. Aylward seemed to think
her doubts uncalled for, and attributed her hesitation to fear of the
dark room.

"Oh, no I am not so childish," said the young lady with nervous dignity;
"but would it be proper?"

"Bless me, madam, he is as old as your father, and as civil a gentleman
as lives. I would come in with you but that I am expecting Mr. Potts
with the tallies. You need have no scruples."

There was no excuse nor escape, and Aurelia followed the negro in
trepidation. Crossing the hall, he opened for her the door of the lobby
corresponding to her own, and saying, "Allow me, ma'am," passed before
her, and she heard another door unclosed, and a curtain withdrawn.
Beyond she only saw a gulf of darkness, but out of it came a deep manly
voice, subdued and melancholy, but gentlemanlike and deferential.

"The young lady is so kind as to come and cheer the old hermit. A
thousand thanks, madam. Permit me."

Aurelia's hand was taken by one soft for want of use, and she was led
forward on a deep piled carpet, and carefully placed on a chair in the
midst of the intense black darkness. There was a little movement and
then the voice said, "I am most sensible of your goodness, madam."

"I--I am glad. You are very good, sir," murmured Aurelia, oppressed by
the gloom and the peculiar atmosphere, cool--for the windows were open
behind the shutters--but strangely fragrant.

"How does my excellent friend, Major Delavie?"

"I thank you, sir, he is well, though his wound troubles him from time
to time."

"Commend me to him when you write, if you are good enough to remember
it."

"I thank you, sir. He will be rejoiced to hear of you."

"He does me too much honour."

These conventionalities being exhausted, a formidable pause ensued,
first broken by Mr. Belamour, "May I ask how my fair visitor likes
Bowstead?"

"It is a fine place, sir."

"But somewhat