or uncounselled action, is terrible. She wanted someone to advise her, someone to lean on, and little consolation as she could expect from communing with Augusta, it would at least be a relief to say all that was in her mind.
Accordingly she rose, wrote a few lines to "good Mrs. Brown," announcing her intention of calling at Plummer's Cottages the following afternoon, and having donned a thick veil to conceal her distorted features, proceeded to post the note.
The walk did her good. A fresh wind was blowing, that cooled the hot cheeks of the troubled lady. In the air was something of rest that soothed her, and it was in a more equable frame of mind that she returned home.
At the door of 37, Beaconsfield Gardens, she became conscious that something unusual was agitating the inmates. A loud, angry voice reached her, muffled by intervening doors—a voice she seemed to recognise; and when, in answer to her ring, Müller opened the door, his face was flushed and his manner agitated.
"Oh, blease," he gasped, when he saw her, "I am glat that you. matam, hafe come.
