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?"

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"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.




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