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.