"Are you certain that all this is true?" murmured Hannah, in a husky
undertone.
"Hi, Miss Hannah, didn't Jovial, and Mrs. Spicer, and Madam Brudenell
herself tell me? And besides I seen the young cre'tur' myself, with my
own eyes, dressed in deep mourning, which it was a fine black crape
dress out and out, and a sweet pretty cre'tur' she was too, only so
pale!"
"Hannah!" screamed Nora, starting up, "it is false! I know it is false!
but I shall go raving mad if I do not prove it so!" And she rushed to
the door, tore it open, and ran out into the night and storm.
"What in the name of the law ails her?" inquired Mrs. Jones.
"Nora! Nora! Nora!" cried Hannah, running after her. "Come back! come
in! you will get your death! Are you crazy? Where are you going in the
snowstorm this time of night, without your bonnet and shawl, too?"
"To Brudenell Hall, to find out the rights of this story" were the words
that came from a great distance wafted by the wind.
"Come back! come back!" shrieked Hannah. But there was no answer.
Hannah rushed into the hut, seized her own bonnet and shawl and Nora's,
and ran out again.
"Where are you going? What's the matter? What ails that girl?" cried old
Mrs. Jones.
Hannah never even thought of answering her, but sped down the narrow
path leading into the valley, and through it up towards Brudenell as
fast as the dark night, the falling snow, and the slippery ground would
permit; but it was too late; the fleet-footed Nora was far in advance.