Caroline Herschel thought she was wandering, and stroked her head, and said gently:
"I will draw down the blind, and you must try to sleep."
"Hark to the bells!" Griselda said. "They sound like joy-bells--joy-bells. They ought to be funeral bells."
"It is Sunday afternoon! They ring for service in the churches."
Then Griselda turned her head away, saying:
"Sunday! What a Sunday this has been! Sunday--Sabbath, Graves calls it--a day of rest--rather, a day of strife, and sin, and sorrow."
Yes; it had been a Sunday never to be forgotten by those who were concerned in that day's work.
Long before the evening shadows fell over the city, the story of Sir Maxwell Danby's duel with Leslie Travers was circulating in the various coteries of Bath society.
The gay world expressed pity and surprise.
The gossips' tongues were busy about the beautiful lady, who had been the cause of the melancholy affair.
That she was the daughter of an actor, who was on that very afternoon laid in his hastily-dug grave, was a shock to the feelings of the _élite_ amongst whom Griselda Mainwaring had been considered worthy to be reckoned, by the unwritten laws of social etiquette.
The daughter of an actor--a mere playwright--who by hard drinking had reduced himself to poverty, and finally killed himself by his evil habits!
What a fall was this for the stately beauty who had held herself a little apart from the crowd, and had often been secretly complained of as one who thought herself mighty good, and vastly superior to many who now could hold their heads with pride and talk of her as their inferior!
The religious clique who frequented the Countess of Huntingdon's Chapel, of which Mrs. Travers was an esteemed member, were filled with horror; and the terrible event was alluded to, or rather made the basis of the sermon, in the Vineyards Chapel that evening.
In many hearts there was awakened real sympathy for the stricken mother, and the sad condition of the girl who must feel that she had, even if unwittingly, been the cause of the duel.
Lady Betty, when she was told by Mr. Cheyne of what had happened, suddenly recovered from her indisposition, and sent off several three-cornered notes to her friends to say the lamentable occurrence had, of course, separated her from the _unhappy_ girl, to whom she was no real relation, and with whom she was sure the dear departed Mr. Longueville would not wish her to have any further dealings. It was not to be expected that a woman of rank and family could be mixed up with one of low birth who had made herself notorious.