Page:Once a Week Volume 7.djvu/34

 26 sound of maniac laughter, and all these chattering people but an embassy from an asylum, striving, vainly perhaps, to confine her in a strait-jacket. Before the fear had, however, time to shape itself distinctly (thought is swift, and what it has taken some time to relate, passed through my mind like lightning), the house-door opened ere the bell was rung, the sound of our wheels having been heard inside, and hurrying past the servants, who came forward to assist me to alight, appeared two young and pretty girls whom I had never seen before in my life. Was I dreaming? They seemed to know me quite well—seemed to be eagerly expecting me.

“How are you, dear?” said one; and “A thousand welcomes, darling!” exclaimed the other; and they both threw their arms round me and kissed me warmly before I was well out of the carriage. The next moment, however, all seemed not quite right to them. Both the girls stared hard at me as I stood full under the light of the lamp in the hall. Their arms suddenly relaxed their affectionate embrace; again they stared, yet harder than before, then shot like two arrows from my side, opened the door of the room whence I had heard the sounds of merriment proceeding, and called “Mamma!”

A lady, elderly, but still handsome, and of a particularly sweet and prepossessing countenance, immediately answered the summons. I had hitherto remained tongue-tied, dumb with surprise and astonishment,—now was the time that I must speak.

“I am afraid there is some mistake,” I began, “and that I am not at Myrtle Grove.” Such was the name of my grandmamma’s residence.

I often wondered afterwards over its singular inappropriateness. One does not expect to find literal groves of myrtle in our northern clime, but grandmamma’s garden was destitute of the veriest twig thereof, and nothing like a plantation or grove of any description of trees was to be seen for miles.

In reply to my question the elder lady informed me that I was indeed not at Myrtle Grove, but at Crofton Manor. In great embarrassment I then began my story, how I had left the train at S station, expecting to find grandmamma’s carriage waiting to convey me to her house—how I had seen a carriage, had at once concluded it to be hers—how the servant had offered no remonstrance, but had straightway transported myself and luggage, like an expected cargo, to the place where I now found myself.

“Was there no other young lady besides yourself who left the train at S station?” inquired Mrs. Horton—such I shortly afterwards learnt was the name of the mistress of Crofton Manor.

“No, madam,” I replied, “I am quite sure I was the only person.”

“This is singular,” pursued she; “we were expecting a young friend. To-morrow is my daughter’s wedding-day, and her cousin was to come to be one of her bridesmaids. Our coachman has not been with us long, has never seen the young lady, consequently he not unnaturally supposed you to be our expected guest. But poor Fanny Heath,” she said, turning to her daughters, “must have missed the train; there is, however, one later which stops at S, the carriage must meet that, and after he has brought Fanny here,