Mrs. Horsfall in Paradise. Observe—I need not ring: I open the door; the hall is empty; the staircase quiet; so is the gallery: the whole house and all its inhabitants are under a spell, which I will not break till you are gone."
"Martin, I trust you."
"You never said a better word. Let me take your shawl: I will shake off the snow and dry it for you. You are cold and wet: never mind; there is a fire up-stairs. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
"Follow me."
He left his shoes on the mat; mounted the stair unshod; Caroline stole after, with noiseless step: there was a gallery, and there was a passage; at the end of that passage Martin paused before a door and tapped: he had to tap twice—thrice: a voice, known to one listener, at last said,—
"Come in."
The boy entered briskly.
"Mr. Moore, a lady called to inquire after you: none of the women were about: it is washing-day, and the maids are over the crown of the head in soap-suds in the back-kitchen; so I asked her to step up."
"Up here, sir?"
"Up here, sir; but if you object, she shall go down again."
"Is this a place, or am I a person to bring a lady to, you absurd lad?"
"No: so I'll take her off."
"Martin, you will stay here. Who is she?"
