Chapter 76

HILDA'S LAST VENTURE.

When Obed Chute came back he found Lord Chetwynde holding Zillah in his arms, pressing her to his heart, and looking wildly around with a face of agony. "Quick! quick!" he cried. "Water, for God's sake! She's fainted! She's dying! Quick!"

In a moment a dozen servants were summoned, and Zillah was plied with restoratives till she revived again. She came back to sense and to life, but hope was dead within her; and even the sight of Lord Chetwynde's face of agony, and his half-frantic words, could not lessen her despair. She implored to be carried to her room, and there she was at once taken. Lord Chetwynde's anguish was now not less than hers. With bitter self-reproach, and in terrible bewilderment, he wandered off into the west gallery, whither Obed Chute followed him, but, seeing his agitation, refrained from saying any thing. Lord Chetwynde was lost in an abyss of despair. In the midst of his agony for Zillah's sake he tried in vain to comprehend how this Miss Lorton could believe herself to be General Pomeroy's daughter and his own wife, when, as he very well knew, his own wife was at her lodgings in Florence--that wife whom he hated, but who yet had saved him from death in Switzerland, and was now living on his smiles in Italy. How could one like Miss Lorton make such a mistake? Or how could she violate all delicacy by asserting such a thing? Clearly somebody was mad. Perhaps he himself was mad. But as he felt himself to be in his sober senses, and not dreaming, he tried to think whether madness should be attributed to Mrs. Hart or Miss Lorton, on the one hand, or to his wife on the other. The problem was insoluble. Madness, he thought, must certainly be somewhere. But where? All seemed to be concerned. Mrs. Hart had recognized Miss Lorton, and Miss Lorton had returned that recognition. Somebody must be fearfully mistaken. What was to be done? In the midst of this his whole being thrilled at the recollection of those words in which Miss Lorton had claimed to be his wife. _His wife_! And she must herself have believed this at the time; otherwise she would have died rather than have uttered those words. But what would his real wife say to all this? That was his final thought.

Meanwhile Obed Chute said not a word. He saw Lord Chetwynde's emotion, and, with his usual delicacy of feeling, did not intrude upon him at such a time, though himself filled with undiminished wonder. The first excitement was over, certainly, yet the wonder remained none the less; and while Lord Chetwynde was pacing the long gallery restlessly and wildly, Obed sat meditative, pondering upon the possibilities of things. Yet the more he thought the less was he able to unravel these mysteries.

At last he thought that a walk outside would be better. A quiet smoke would assist meditation. His brain could always work more promptly when a pipe was in his mouth. He therefore went off to prepare this invaluable companion for the walk which he designed, and was even filling his pipe, when he was aroused by the entrance of a servant, who announced that a lady had just arrived, and wished to see him on very particular business. Saying this, the servant handed him her card. Obed looked at it, and read the following name:

"_Lady Chetwynde_."