At first she thought it was a phantom of her own brain, but then looking wildly at the calm, solemn features, and the kindly grey eyes which were gazing at her so inquiringly, she pronounced his name--"Frank Maberly." "God save you, madam," he said.

"What is the matter ?" "Misery, wrath, madness, despair!" she cried wildly, raising her hand.
"The retribution of a lifetime fallen on my luckless head in one unhappy moment." Frank Maberly looked at her in real pity, but a thought went through his head.

"What a magnificent actress this woman would make." It merely past through his brain and was gone, and then he felt ashamed of himself for entertaining it a moment; and yet it was not altogether an unnatural one for him who knew her character so well.

She was lying on the ground in an attitude which would have driven Siddons to despair; one white arm, down which her sleeve had fallen, pressed against her forehead, while the other clutched the ground; and her splendid black hair fallen down across her shoulders.

Yet how could he say how much of all this wild despair was real, and how much hysterical?
"But what is the matter, Mary Hawker," he asked.