'I will do it. Be seated. Hast thou seen him?'
'Whom, madam?—Master Pierre?'
'It was to speak of him I came, madam. He made a most extraordinary call upon me last night—midnight.'
'And thou marriedst him?—Damn thee!'
'Nay, nay, nay, madam; there is something here I know not of—I came to tell thee news, but thou hast some o'erwhelming tidings to reveal to me.'
'I beg no pardons; but I may be sorry. Mr. Falsgrave, my son, standing publicly plighted to Lucy Tartan, has privately wedded some other girl—some slut!'
'True as thou art there. Thou knowest nothing of it, then?'
'Nothing, nothing—not one grain till now. Who is it he has wedded?'
'Some slut, I tell thee!—I am no lady now, but something deeper,—a woman!—an outraged and pride-poisoned woman!'
She turned from him swiftly, and again paced the room, as frantic and entirely regardless of any presence. Waiting for her to pause, but in vain, Mr. Falsgrave advanced toward her cautiously, and with the profoundest deference, which was almost a cringing, spoke:—
'It is the hour of woe to thee; and I confess my cloth hath no consolation for thee yet awhile. Permit me to withdraw from thee, leaving my best prayers for thee, that thou mayst know some peace, ere this now shut-out sun goes down. Send for me whenever thou desirest me.—May I go now?'
'Begone! and let me not hear thy soft, mincing voice, which is an infamy to a man! Begone, thou helpless, and unhelping one!'
She swiftly paced the room again, swiftly muttering to