“That was what brought me here.  Are none of our messengers returned yet?”

“Yes, the little Nabathaean is come,” replied her nurse with some hesitation, “and he indeed—­but for God’s sake, child, form no vain hopes!  Hiram came to me soon after sun-down. . .”

“Betta!” screamed the girl, clinging to her nurse’s arm.  “What has he heard, what news does he bring?”

“Nothing, nothing!  How you rush at conclusions!  What he found out is next to nothing.  I had only a minute to speak to Hiram.  To-morrow morning he is to bring the man to me.  The only thing he told me. . .”

“By Christ’s Wounds!  What was it?”

“He said that the messenger had heard of an elderly recluse, who had formerly been a great warrior.”

“My father, my father!” cried Paula.  “Hiram is sitting by the fire with the others.  Fetch him here at once—­at once; I command you, Perpetua, do you hear?  Oh best, dearest Betta!  Come with me; we will go to him.”

“Patience, sweetheart, a little patience!” urged the nurse.  “Ah, poor dear soul, it will turn out to be nothing again; and if we again follow up a false clue it will only lead to fresh disappointment.”

“Never mind:  you are to come with me.”

“To all the servants round the fire, and at this time of night?  I should think so indeed!—­But do you wait here, child.  I know how it can be managed.

“I will wake Hiram’s Joseph.  He sleeps in the stable yonder—­and then he will fetch his father.  Ah! what impatience!  What a stormy, passionate little heart it is!  If I do not do your bidding, I shall have you awake all night, and wandering about to-morrow as if in a dream.—­There, be quiet, be quiet, I am going.”

As she spoke she wrapped her kerchief round her head and hurried out; Paula fell on her knees before the crucifix over the bed, and prayed fervently till her nurse returned, Soon after she heard a man’s steps on the stairs and Hiram came in.

He was a powerful man of about fifty, with a pair of honest blue eyes in his plain face.  Any one looking at his broad chest would conclude that when he spoke it would be in a deep bass voice; but Hiram had stammered from his infancy; and from constant companionship with horses he had accustomed himself to make a variety of strange, inarticulate noises in a high, shrill voice.  Besides, he was always unwilling to speak.  When he found himself face to face with the daughter of his master and benefactor, he knelt at her feet, looked up at her with faithful, dog-like eyes full of affection, and kissed first her dress, and then her hand which she held out to him.  Paula kindly but decidedly cut short the expressions of delight at seeing her again which he painfully stammered out; and when he at length began to tell his story his words came far too slowly for her impatience.

He told her that the Nabathaean who had brought the rumor that had excited her hopes, was not unwilling to follow up the trace he had found, but he would not wait beyond noon the next day and had tried to bid for high terms.