But these feelings were soon lost in astonishment, and horror so
confounding, that for awhile she lost all power of moving, or even of
thinking. Still her eyes were fixed upon the words which had pierced
her heart:--she could not force them away. Again and again, struck
with shame and horror, she shrunk away;--again and again, she found
herself forced by doubt, by positive disbelief, to search the terrible
pages. At last she had read enough--quite, quite enough to be assured,
not that her father--her mother, had been _suspected_, but that by the
law of the land they had been convicted, and condemned to death as
foul, adulterous murderers;--the murderers of Sir Thomas Overbury!

The Lady Ellinor returned alone into the gallery, "You little truant!"
she cried, "why so long? you said you would soon be with the foremost.
I thought you must have escaped me, and have sought you through half
the garden, and you are here all the while!"

No voice replied: not a sound was heard; and the Lady Ellinor had
already returned to the door of the gallery to seek her friend
elsewhere, when something fell heavily to the ground.

She flew back; and in one of the receding windows, she found the Lady
Anne lying senseless in a deep swoon. Throwing herself on the ground
beside her, she raised her tenderly in her arms, and not without some
difficulty, restored her to herself. Then laying her head upon her
bosom, she whispered kind words. "You are ill, I fear, my own Anne,
who has been here? What have you seen? How so changed in this short
time? I left you well and smiling, and now--nay, my dear, dear friend,
do not turn from me, and look so utterly wretched. Do not you see me!
What can be the matter!" The Lady Anne looked up in her friend's face