MOTHER AND SON Lady Dunborough stood, as if turned to stone by the news.

In the great hall below, a throng of servants, the Pitt livery prominent among them, were hurrying to and fro, with a clatter of dishes and plates, a ceaseless calling of orders, a buzz of talk, and now and then a wrangle.
But the lobby and staircase of the west wing, on the first floor of which she stood--and where the great man lay, at the end of a softly lighted passage, his door guarded by a man and a woman seated motionless in chairs beside it--were silent by comparison; the bulk of the guests were still at supper or busy in the east or inferior wing; and my lady had a moment to think, to trace the consequences of this inopportune arrival, and to curse, now more bitterly than before, the failure of her attempt to eject the girl from the house.
However, she was not a woman to lie down to her antagonists, and in the depth of her stupor she had a thought.

Her brow relaxed; she clutched the maid's arm.

'Quick,' she whispered, 'go and fetch Mr.Thomasson--he is somewhere below.

Bring him here, but do not let Mr.Dunborough see you as you pass! Quick, woman--run!' The maid flew on her errand, leaving her mistress to listen and fret on the stairs, in a state of suspense almost unbearable.