"Is Mr. Chandos gone, do you know, Miss?"

The question came from Hill, who put her head in at the oak-parlour to make it.

"He rode away not three minutes ago."

"Dear me! My lady wanted him to call somewhere else. I suppose a note must be posted."

"Stay an instant, Mrs. Hill," I said, detaining her. "There\'s a new companion wanted, is there not, for Mrs. Chandos?"

"Of course there is," returned Hill. "What of it?"

"Can I see Lady Chandos?"

Hill turned hard directly, facing me resolutely.

"Now, Miss, you listen: we have had that discussion once before, and we don\'t want it gone over again. So long as my lady keeps her rooms, neither you nor anybody else can be admitted to her; you wouldn\'t be if you paid for it in gold. And I\'m much surprised that a young lady, calling herself a lady, should persist in pressing it."

"Hill, I am not pressing it. I only asked the question: As I cannot see Lady Chandos, will you deliver a message to her for me? If I can be of any use in taking the duties of companion to Mrs. Chandos in this temporary need, I shall be glad to be so, and will do my very best."

To see the countenance with which Hill received these words, was something comical: the open mouth, the stare of astonishment.

"You take the duties of companion to Mrs. Chandos!" uttered she, at length. "Bless the child! you little know what you ask for."

"But will you mention it to Lady Chandos?"

Hill vouchsafed no answer. She cast a glance of pity on my ignorance or presumption, whichever she may have deemed it, and quietly went out of the room.

That it was perfectly useless persisting, or even thinking of the affair further, I saw, and got out my writing-desk. Not a word had come to me from Mrs. Paler, not a hint at payment; and I wrote a civil request that she would kindly forward me the money due.

This over, I sat, pen in hand, deliberating whether to write or not to Emily de Mellissie, when a loud ring came to the house-door. One of the footmen crossed the hall to answer it.

"Is Lady Chandos at home?" I heard demanded, in a ladylike and firm voice.

"Her ladyship is at home, ma\'am," answered Joseph, "but she does not receive visitors."

"I wish to see her."

"She is ill, madam; not able to see any one."

"Lady Chandos would admit me. My business is of importance. In short, I must see her."

Joseph seemed to hesitate.

"I\'ll call Mrs. Hill, and you can see her, ma\'am," he said, after a little pause. "But I feel certain you cannot be admitted to my lady."

She was ushered by Joseph into the oak parlour. A good-looking woman, as might be seen through her black Chantilly veil, dressed in a soft black silk gown and handsome shawl. She was of middle height, portly, and had a mass of fiery red hair, crêpé on the temples, and taken to the back of her head. I rose to receive her. She bowed, but did not lift her veil; and it struck me that I had seen her somewhere before.

"I presume that I have the honour of speaking to a Miss Chandos?"

"I am not Miss Chandos. Will you take a seat?"

"I grieve to hear that Lady Chandos is ill. Is she so ill that she cannot see me?"

"What I should have answered I scarcely know, and was relieved by the entrance of Hill. The visitor rose.

"I have come here, some distance, to request an interview with Lady Chandos. I hear she is indisposed; but not, I trust, too much so to grant it to me."

"I\'m sorry you should have taken the trouble," bluntly returned Hill, who was in one of her ungracious moods. "My lady cannot see any one."

"My business with her is of importance."

"I can\'t help that. If all England came, Lady Chandos could not receive them."

"To whom am I speaking?--if I may inquire," resumed the lady.

"I am Mrs. Hill. The many-years\' confidential attendant of Lady Chandos."

"You share her entire confidence?"

"Her entire confidence, and that of the family."

"I have heard of you. It is not every family who possesses so faithful a friend."

"Anything you may have to say to her ladyship, whatever its nature, you can, if you please, charge me with," resumed Hill, completely ignoring the compliment. "I do not urge it, or covet it," she hastily added, in an uncompromising tone. "I only mention it because it is impossible that you can see Lady Chandos."

"Mrs. Chandos requires a companion, at the present moment, to replace one who has gone away ill."

"What of that?" returned Hill.

"I have come to offer myself for the appointment," said the visitor, handing her card, which Hill dropped on the table without looking at. "I flatter myself I shall be found eligible."

Hill looked surprised, and I felt so. Only a candidate for the vacant place?--after all that circumlocution!

"Why could you not have said at first what you wanted?" was Hill\'s next question, put with scant politeness. Indeed, she seemed to resent both the visit and the application as a personal affront. "I don\'t think you\'ll suit, madam."

"Why do you think I shall not?"

"And we are about somebody already. Mr. Chandos is gone to inquire for her now."

A flush, and a shade of disappointment, immediately hid under a smile, appeared on the lady\'s face. I felt sorry for her. I thought perhaps she might be wanting a home.

"Mr. Chandos may not engage her," observed the visitor.

"That\'s true enough," acknowledged Hill. "Yet she would have suited well; for she is not a stranger to the Chandos family."

"Neither am I," quietly replied the applicant. "My name is Penn--if you will have the goodness to look at the card--Mrs. Penn."

"Penn? Penn?" repeated Hill, revolving the information, but paying no attention to the suggestion. "I don\'t recognise the name. I remember nobody bearing it who is known to us."

"Neither would Lady Chandos recognise it, for personally I am unknown to her. When I said I was no stranger to the Chandos family, I meant that I was not strange to certain unpleasant events connected with it. That dreadful misfortune----"

"It\'s not a thing to be talked of in the light of day," shrieked Hill; putting up her hands to stop the words. "Have you not more discretion than that? Very fit, you\'d be, as companion to young Mrs. Chandos!"

"Do not alarm yourself for nothing," rejoined Mrs. Penn, with soothing coolness. "I was not going to talk of it, beyond the barest allusion: and the whole world knows that the Chandos family are not as others. I would only observe that I am acquainted with everything that occurred; all the details; and therefore I should be more eligible than some to reside at Chandos."

"How did you learn them?" asked Hill.

"Lady Chandos had once an intimate friend--Mrs. Sackville; who is now dead. I was at Mrs. Sackville\'s when the affair happened, and become cognizant of all through her. Perhaps Lady Chandos may deem it worth while to see me, if you tell her this."

"How can she see you, when she\'s confined to her bed?" irritably responded Hill, who appeared fully bent upon admitting none to the presence of Lady Chandos. The very mention of it excited her anger in a most unreasonable manner, for which I could see no occasion whatever.

More talking. At its conclusion, Hill took the card up to Lady Chandos; also the messages of the stranger; one of which was, that she would prove a faithful friend in the event of being engaged. Hill returned presently, to inquire how Mrs. Penn heard that a companion to Mrs. Chandos was required; that lady replied that she had heard it accidentally at Marden. She had lived but in three situations, she said: with Mrs. Sackville, Mrs. James, both of whom were dead, and at present she was with Mrs. Howard, of Marden, who would personally answer all inquiries.

Hill appeared to regard this as satisfactory. She noted the address given, and accompanied Mrs. Penn to the portico, who declined the offer of refreshments. They spoke together for some minutes in an undertone, and then Mrs. Penn walked away at a brisk pace, wishing, she said, to catch the omnibus that would presently pass Chandos gates on its way to the station. I put my head out at the window, and gazed after her, trying to recall, looking at her back, what I had not been able to do looking at her face. Hill\'s voice interrupted me.

"Is not there something rather queer about that person\'s looks, Miss Hereford?"

"In what way, Hill? She is good-looking."

"Well, her face struck me as being a curious one. What bright red hair she\'s got!--quite scarlet!--and I have heard say that red hair is sometimes deceitful. It is her own, though: for I looked at it in the sunlight outside."

"She puts me in mind of some one I have seen, and I cannot recollect who. It is not often you see red hair with those very light blue eyes."

"I never saw hair so shiny-red in all my life," returned Hill; "it looks just as if it had been burnished. She seems straightforward and independent. We shall see what the references say, if it comes to an inquiry."

"If you and Lady Chandos would but let me try the situation, Hill! I\'m sure I should suit Mrs. Chandos as well as this lady would. I am only twenty; but I have had experience one way or another."

As if the words were a signal to drive her away, Hill walked off. I wrote to Madame de Mellissie, finishing a drawing, and got through the afternoon; going up to dress at half-past five.

Now that Lady Chandos was secluded, and Mr. Chandos my sole dinner companion, instinct told me that full dress was best avoided. So I put on my pretty pink barége, with its little tucker of Honiton lace at the throat, and its falling cuffs of Honiton lace at the wrists. Nothing in my hair but a bit of pink ribbon. I had not worn anything but ribbon since I came to Chandos.

The dinner waited and I waited, but Mr. Chandos did not come. I had seen a covered tray carried upstairs by Hickens; at the door of the west wing Hill would relieve him of it, the invariable custom. At the special request of Lady Chandos, Hickens alone went up there; the other men-servants never. Joseph carried up the meals for Mrs. Chandos and stayed to wait on her.

"Would you like to sit down without Mr. Chandos, Miss?" Hickens came to inquire of me when half-past six o\'clock had struck.

No, I did not care to do that. And the time went on again; I wondering what was detaining him. By-and-by I went out of doors in the twilight, and strolled a little way down the open carriage drive. Surely Mr. Chandos\'s prohibition could not extend to the broad public walk. It was not so pleasant an evening as the previous one; clouds chased each other across the sky, a dim star or two struggled out, the air was troubled, and the wind was sighing and moaning in the trees.

There broke upon my ear the footsteps of a horse. I did not care that its master should see me walking there, and turned to gain the house. But--what sort of a speed was it coming at? Why should Mr. Chandos be riding in that break-neck fashion? Little chance, in truth, that I could outstrip that! So I stepped close to the side trees, and in another moment Black Knave tore furiously by without its rider, the bridle trailing on the ground.

Mr. Chandos must have met with an accident; he might be lying in desperate need. Where could it have happened? and where was the groom who had gone out in attendance on him? I ran along at my swiftest speed, and soon saw a dark object in the distance, nearly as far as the entrance-gates. It was Mr. Chandos trying to raise himself.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, kneeling down beside him.

"Some trifling damage, I suppose. How came you here, Miss Hereford?"

"I saw the horse gallop in, and ran to see what the accident might be, sir. How did it happen?"

"Get up, child. Get up, and I will tell you."

"Yes, sir," I said, obeying him.

"I was riding fast, being late, and in passing this spot, some creature--I should say \'devil\' to any one but a young lady--darted out of those trees there, and threw up its hands with a noise right in front of my horse, to startle it, or to startle me. Black Knave reared bolt upright, bounded forward, and I lost my seat. I had deemed myself a first-rate horseman before to-night; but I was sitting carelessly."

"Was it a man?"

"To the best of my belief, it was a woman. The night is dusk; and I saw things less accurately than I might have done in a more collected moment. It was a something in a grey cloak, with a shrill voice. I wonder if you could help me up?"

"I will do my best."

I stooped, and he placed his hands upon me, and raised himself. But it appeared that he could not walk: but for holding on to me, he would have fallen.

"I believe you must let me lie on the ground again, and go and send assistance, Miss Hereford. Stay: who\'s this?"

It was one of the servants, Lizzy Dene, who had been, as was subsequently explained, on an errand to the village. She called out in dismayed astonishment when she comprehended the helpless position of Mr. Chandos.

"Now don\'t lose your wits, Lizzy Dene, but see what you can do to help me," he cried. "With you on one side, and Miss Hereford on the other, perhaps I may make a hobble of it."

The woman put her basket down, concealing it between the trees, and Mr. Chandos laid his hand upon her shoulder, I helping him on the other side. She was full of questions, calling the horse all sorts of treacherous names. Mr. Chandos said the horse was not to blame, and gave her the explanation that he had given me.

"Sir, I\'d lay a hundred guineas that it was one of those gipsy jades!" she exclaimed. "There\'s a lot of them \'camped on the common."

"I\'ll gipsy them, should it prove so," he answered. "Miss Hereford, I am sorry to lean upon you so heavily. The order of things is being reversed. Instead of the knight supporting the lady, the lady is bearing the weight of the knight."

"Where was your groom, sir?" I inquired. "He went abroad with you."

"Yes, but I despatched him on an errand, and rode back alone."

"Should you know the woman again, sir?" asked Lizzy.

"I think I should know her scream. It was as shrill as a sea-gull\'s. Her head was enveloped in some covering that concealed her face; probably the hood of the grey cloak."

"Who\'s to know that it was not a man?" resumed Lizzy Dene.

"If so, he wore petticoats," said Mr. Chandos. "A seat at last!" he added, as we approached one. "I will remain here whilst you go and send two of the men."

"Can\'t we get you on further, sir?" said Lizzy.

"No. I have taxed your strength too much in this short distance. And my own also, through endeavouring to ease my weight to you."

In point of fact, the weight had been felt, for the one foot seemed quite powerless. He sat down on the bench, his brow white and moist with pain, and motioned to us to go on. "I think they had better bring my mother\'s garden-chair," he said.

"I\'ll run and send it," cried Lizzy. "Miss had better stop with you, sir."

"What for?" asked Mr. Chandos.

"Look you here, sir. That woman, whoever she might have been, was trying to do you an injury; to cause you to lose your life, I should say; and the chances are that she\'s concealed somewhere about here still. Look at the opportunities for hiding there are here! Why a whole regiment of gipsies and murderers and thieves might be skulking amid the trees, and us none the wiser till they showed themselves out with guns and knives. That woman--which I\'ll be bound was a man--may be watching to come out upon you, sir, if you can be caught by yourself."

Mr. Chandos laughed, but Lizzy Dene seemed in anything but a laughing. mood. "I will stay with you, sir," I said, and sat down resolutely on the bench. Lizzy went off with a nod.

"Now, Miss Hereford, you and I have an account to settle," he began, as her footsteps died away in the distance. "Why am I \'sir\' again?"

"Lizzy Dene was present," I answered, giving him the truth. I had not liked that she should see me familiar with him--putting myself, as it were, on a level with Mr. Chandos; and in truth the word still slipped out at odd times in my shyness. Lizzy Dene might have commented upon the omission in the household: but this I did not say. Mr. Chandos turned to look at me.

"Never mind who is present, I am not \'sir\' to you. I beg you to recollect that, Miss Hereford. And now," he continued, taking my hand, "how am I to thank you?"

"For what?"

"For coming and looking for me. I might have lain until morning, inhaling the benefit of the night dews; or until that grey witch had \'come out again with a gun\' and finished me."

The last words, a repetition of Lizzy Dene\'s, were spoken in joke. I laughed.

"You would soon have been found, without me, Mr. Chandos. Lizzy Dane was not many moments after me, and scores of others will be coming in before the night is over."

"I don\'t know about the \'scores.\' But see how you destroy the romance of the thing, Miss Hereford! I wish there was a probability that the woman had gone into hiding in the groves of Chandos; I would soon have her hunted out of them."

"Do you suppose it was one of the gipsies?"

"I am at a loss for any supposition on the point," he replied. "I am unconscious of h............