O, good gracious!"
"What is the matter. Lady Louisa?"
"A man from the railway--with a telegram--yes, I am sure it's a telegram!
Do you know, I have such a horror of telegrams! I always fancy they mean
illness--or death--or something dreadful. Very absurd of me, isn't it? And
I daresay this is only a message about some delayed parcel, or some one who
was to be here and can't come, or something of that kind."
The room was full of idle people by this time. Every one went to the open
window and stared down at the man who had brought the telegram. He had
given his message, and was standing on the broad flight of steps before
the Castle door, waiting for the return of the official who had taken it.
Whether the electric wires had brought the tidings of some great calamity,
or a milliner's apology for a delayed bonnet, was impossible to guess. The
messenger stood there stolid and impenetrable, and there was nothing to be
divined from his aspect.
But presently, while a vague anxiety possessed almost every one present,
there came from the staircase without a sudden cry of woe--a woman's
shriek, long and shrill, ominous as the wail of the banshee. There was a
rush to the door, and the women crowded, out in a distracted way. Lady
Laura was fainting in her husband's arms, and George Fairfax was standing
near her reading a telegram.
People had not long to wait for the evil news.
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