"You need have no fear of that, my lord," said Sally, who all this
while had been busy setting the table for supper.  And very gay and
inviting it looked, with a large bunch of brilliantly coloured dahlias
in the centre, and the bright pewter goblets and blue china about.

"How many shall I lay for, my lord?"

"Five places, pretty Sally, but let the supper be enough for
ten at least--our friends will be tired, and, I hope, hungry.
As for me, I vow I could demolish a baron of beef to-night."

"Here they are, I do believe," said Sally excitedly, as a
distant clatter of horses and wheels could now be distinctly heard,
drawing rapidly nearer.

There was a general commotion in the coffee-room.  Everyone
was curious to see my Lord Antony's swell friends from over the water.
Miss Sally cast one or two quick glances at the little bit of mirror
which hung on the wall, and worthy Mr. Jellyband bustled out in order
to give the first welcome himself to his distinguished guests.  Only
the two strangers in the corner did not participate in the general
excitement.  They were calmly finishing their game of dominoes, and
did not even look once towards the door.

"Straight ahead, Comtesse, the door on your right," said a
pleasant voice outside.

"Aye! there they are, all right enough." said Lord Antony,
joyfully; "off with you, my pretty Sally, and see how quick you can
dish up the soup."

The door was thrown wide open, and, preceded by Mr. Jellyband,
who was profuse in his bows and welcomes, a party of four--two ladies
and two gentlemen--entered the coffee-room.

"Welcome!  Welcome to old England!" said Lord Antony,
effusively, as he came eagerly forward with both hands outstretched
towards the newcomers.

"Ah, you are Lord Antony Dewhurst, I think," said one of the
ladies, speaking with a strong foreign accent.

"At your service, Madame," he replied, as he ceremoniously
kissed the hands of both the ladies, then turned to the men and shook
them both warmly by the hand.

Sally was already helping the ladies to take off their
traveling cloaks, and both turned, with a shiver, towards the
brightly-blazing hearth.

There was a general movement among the company in the
coffee-room.  Sally had bustled off to her kitchen whilst Jellyband,
still profuse with his respectful salutations, arranged one or two
chairs around the fire.  Mr. Hempseed, touching his forelock, was
quietly vacating the seat in the hearth.  Everyone was staring
curiously, yet deferentially, at the foreigners.

"Ah, Messieurs! what can I say?" said the elder of the two
ladies, as she stretched a pair of fine, aristocratic hands to the
warmth of the blaze, and looked with unspeakable gratitude first at
Lord Antony, then at one of the young men who had accompanied her
party, and who was busy divesting himself of his heavy, caped coat.

"Only that you are glad to be in England, Comtesse," replied
Lord Antony, "and that you have not suffered too much from your trying
voyage."

"Indeed, indeed, we are glad to be in England," she said,
while her eyes filled with tears, "and we have already forgotten all
that we have suffered."

Her voice was musical and low, and there was a great deal of
calm dignity and of many sufferings nobly endured marked in the
handsome, aristocratic face, with its wealth of snowy-white hair
dressed high above the forehead, after the fashion of the times.

"I hope my friend, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, proved an entertaining
travelling companion, madame?"

"Ah, indeed, Sir Andrew was kindness itself.  How could my
children and I ever show enough gratitude to you all, Messieurs?"

Her companion, a dainty, girlish figure, childlike and
pathetic in its look of fatigue and of sorrow, had said nothing as
yet, but her eyes, large, brown, and full of tears, looked up from the
fire and sought those of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, who had drawn near to
the hearth and to her; then, as they met his, which were fixed with
unconcealed admiration upon the sweet face before him, a thought of
warmer colour rushed up to her pale cheeks.

"So this is England," she said, as she looked round with
childlike curiosity at the great hearth, the oak rafters, and the
yokels with their elaborate smocks and jovial, rubicund, British
countenances.

"A bit of it, Mademoiselle," replied Sir Andrew, smiling, "but
all of it, at your service."

The young girl blushed again, but this time a bright smile,
fleet and sweet, illumined her dainty face.  She said nothing, and Sir