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In this frame of mind she sat and thought and thought, until a servant, who had been to the post office, came up and brought her a note from Miriam Haverley. The next morning Dora Bannister, in an open carriage, drawn by the family bays, appeared at the door of the Witton mansion.
But I have seen Miss Drane; I came to town yesterday in the Witton carriage, and saw her in the street. She is certainly a pretty little thing, and dresses with much taste. We all thought her face was very sweet and attractive. We had a good look at her, for she was waiting for our carriage to pass, in order to cross the street.
She did not do this often, for the old lady had always made everybody in the house understand that this room was her castle, and when any one was wanted there, he or she would be summoned. "You must be feeling very badly," said the meek and anxious Mrs. Witton "don't you think it would be better to send for a doctor?" "There is no doctor," said Miss Panney, shortly.
Witton, who happened to be passing the parlor door. Then she sat down to write a letter to Dora Bannister, which she intended that young lady to receive soon after her arrival at Barport.
Tolbridge hesitated a little, and then replied, "Yes, we shall have them." "Very well, then, I'll stay. The Witton strawberries are small and sour this year; and I haven't tasted a good one yet." During the half hour which intervened before luncheon was announced, Miss Panney discovered nothing regarding the matter which brought her there.
Without the slightest sign of emotion in her face, she answered, "It is so. It happened while I was at Barport." "Stop!" cried Miss Panney, in a voice that made the driver pull up his horses with a jerk. In a moment she had stepped from the low carriage to the ground, and with quick strides was walking back to the Witton house. Dora turned in the seat, looked after her, and laughed.
At Yardley church, four miles east of Birmingham, is The Moat, now a pasture; the trench still retains its water, as a remembrance of its former use. This was anciently the property of the Allestrees, lords of Witton; but about thirty years ago, the building and the family expired together.
Witton slept but little that night; but who shall describe its bewilderment when, early in the morning, a constable arrived in the village with the news that the dead body of the Reverend David Poindexter had been found in some woods about fifteen miles off, and that his bay mare had been picked up grazing along the roadside not far from home!
The youngest son of Sir Fitzroy Maclean is Donald Maclean, of Witton Castle, Durham, the member for Oxford, married to Harriet, daughter of General Frederick Maitland, a descendant of the Duke of Lauderdale, whose former injustice to the clan Maclean has been noticed in this work.
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