Presently Mr.Bulteel returned, in an evident state of suppressed agitation.
"Will you please follow me, Miss Deane ?" he said, with a singular air of deference.

"Sir Francis is quite alone and will see you at once." Mary's blue eyes opened in amazement.
"Sir Francis----!" she stammered.

"I don't quite understand----" "This way," said Mr.Bulteel, escorting her out of his own room along the passage to the door which she had before seen labelled with the name of "Sir Francis Vesey"-- then catching the startled and appealing glance of her eyes, he added kindly: "Don't be alarmed! It's all right!" Thereupon he opened the door and announced-- "Miss Deane, Sir Francis." Mary looked up, and then curtsied with quite an "out-of-date" air of exquisite grace, as she found herself in the presence of a dignified white-haired old gentleman, who, standing near a large office desk on which the papers she had brought lay open, was wiping his spectacles, and looking very much as if he had been guilty of the womanish weakness of tears.

He advanced to meet her.
"How do you do!" he said, uttering this commonplace with remarkable earnestness, and taking her hand kindly in his own.

"You bring me sad news--very sad news! I had not expected the death of my old friend so suddenly--I had hoped to see him again--yes, I had hoped very much to see him again quite soon! And so you were with him at the last ?" Mary looked, as she felt, utterly bewildered.
"I think," she murmured--"I think there must be some mistake,--the papers I brought here were for Mr.Bulteel----" "Yes--yes!" said Sir Francis.