``Were you brought up in Scotland?'' said the
lady, addressing herself, in a faltering voice, to
Hartley---``And what was your master's name?''
``I served my apprenticeship with Mr Gideon
Gray of the town of Middlemas,'' said Hartley.
``Middlemas! Gray!'' repeated the lady, and
fainted away.
Hartley offered the succours of his profession;
the husband flew to support her head, and the instant
that Mrs Witherington began to recover, he
whispered to her, in a tone betwixt entreaty and
warning, ``Zilia, beware---beware!''
Some imperfect sounds which she had begun to
frame, died away upon her tongue.
``Let me assist you to your dressing-room, my
love,'' said her obviously anxious husband.
She arose with the action of an automaton, which
moves at the touch of a spring, and half hanging
upon her husband, half dragging herself on by her
own efforts, had nearly reached the door of the
room, when Hartley following, asked if he could
be of any service.
``No, sir,'' said the General sternly; ``this is no
case for a stranger's interference; when you are
wanted I will send for you.''
Hartley stepped back on receiving a rebuff in a
tone so different from that which General Witherington
had used toward him in their previous intercourse,
and disposed, for the first time, to give
credit to public report, which assigned to that gentleman,
with several good qualities, the character
of a very proud and haughty man.
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