Ormiston was so surprised, or rather dismayed, by this unexpected
address, that he complied at once, and placed her on her own pretty
feet. But the young lady's sense of propriety was a good deal stronger
than her physical powers; and she swayed and tottered, and had to cling
to her unknown friend for support.
"You are scarcely strong enough, I am afraid, dear lady," he said,
kindly. "You had better let me carry you. I assure you I am quite equal
to it, or even a more weighty burden, if necessity required."
"Thank you, sir," said the faint voice, faintly; "but I would rather
walk. Where are you taking me to?"
"To your own house, if you wish--it is quite close at hand."
"Yes. Yes. Let us go there! Prudence in there, and she will take care of
me.".
"Will she?" said Ormiston, doubtfully. "I hope you do not suffer much
pain!"
"I do not suffer at all," she said, wearily; "only I am so tired. Oh, I
wish I were home!"
Ormiston half led, half lifted her up the stairs.
"You are almost there, dear lady--see, it is close st hand!"
She half lifted her languid eyes, but did not speak. Leaning panting on
his arm, he drew her gently on until they reached her door. It was still
unfastened. Prudence had kept her word, and not gone near it; and he
opened it, and helped her in.
"Where now?" he asked.
"Up stairs," she said, feebly. "I want to go to my own room."
Ormiston knew where that was, and assisted her there as tenderly as he
could have done La Masque herself. He paused on the threshold; for the
room was dark.
"There is a lamp and a tinder-box on the mantel," said the faint, sweet
voice, "if you will only please to find them."
Ormiston crowed the room--fortunately he knew the latitude of the place
--and moving his hand with gingerly precaution along the mantel-shelf,
lest he should upset any of the gimcracks thereon, soon obtained the
articles named, and struck a light. The lady was leaning wearily against
the door-post, but now she came forward, and dropped exhausted into the
downy pillows of a lounge.
"Is there anything I can do for you, madame?" began Ormiston, with as
solicitous an air as though he had been her father. "A glass of wine
would be of use to you, I think, and then, if you wish, I will go for a
doctor."
"You are very kind. You will find wine and glasses in the room opposite
this, and I feel so faint that I think you had better bring me some."
Ormiston moved across the passage, like the good, obedient young man
that he was, filled a glass of Burgundy, and as he was returning with
it, was startled by a cry from the lady that nearly made him drop and
shiver it on the floor.