man is very obstinate and
persistent. She will not tell me her business. She says it is with your
grace alone; that it concerns your grace most of all; that it is a matter
of more importance than life or death; and that--indeed I beg your
pardon, your grace--but I do not like to deliver the rest of her message,
it seems so impertinent," said the girl, blushing and casting down her
eyes.

"Nevertheless, deliver it. I will excuse you. The impertinence will not
be yours," said the bride, as a cold chill struck her heart.

"Then, your grace, she seized me by the two shoulders and looked me
straight in the face, and said--'Tell your mistress, if she would save
herself from utter ruin, she will see me and hear what I have to tell
her, before she sees the Duke of Hereward again!'" answered the girl,
in a low tone.

"'_Before I see the Duke of Hereward again_.' Ah, what is it? What
is it?" murmured the bewildered bride to herself. Then she spoke to
Margaret. "Bring the woman up here. I will see her at once."

Once more the girl obediently left the room.

The young bride covered her pale face with her hands, and trembled with
dread of--she knew not what!

A few minutes passed. The door opened again, and Margaret re-appeared,
ushering in Rose Cameron's housekeeper.

Salome looked up.

CHAPTER XV.

THE CLOUD FALLS.

When Rose Cameron's emissary entered the bride's chamber, the young
duchess arose from her chair, but almost instantly sank back again,
overpowered by an access of that mysterious foreshadowing of approaching
calamity which had darkened her spirit during the whole of this, her
bridal day.

And it was better, perhaps, that this should be so, as it prepared her to
sustain the shock which might otherwise have proved fatal to one of her
nervous and sensitive organization.

She looked up from her resting-chair, and saw, standing, courtesying
before her, a weary, careworn, elderly woman, in a rusty black bonnet,
shawl, and gown. No very alarming intruder to contemplate.

The woman, on her part, instead of the proud and insolent beauty she had
expected to see, in all the pomp and pride of her bridal day and her new
rank, beheld a fair and gentle girl, still clothed in the deepest
mourning for her murdered father.

And her heart, which had been hardened against the supposed triumphant
rival of the poor peasant girl, now melted with sympathy.

And she, who had persistently forced her way into the bri