The room had one window looking south and another west; the latter
commanded a view of the sea. General Rolleston looked down at the floor,
littered with odds and ends--the dead leaves of dress that fall about a
lady in the great process of packing--and then gazed through the window
at the flying _Proserpine._

He sighed and lighted another cigar. Before he had half finished it he
stooped down and took up a little bow of ribbon that lay on the ground
and put it quietly in his bosom. In this act he was surprised by Sarah
Wilson, who had come up to sweep all such waifs and strays into her own
box.

"La, sir," said she, rather crossly, "why didn't you tell me, and I'd
have tidied the room. It is all hugger-mugger, with miss a-leaving."

And with this she went to the washstand to begin. General Rolleston's eye
followed her movements, and he observed the water in one of the basins
was rather red. "What!" said he, "has she had an accident; cut her
finger?"

"No, sir," said Wilson.

"Her nose been bleeding, then?"

"No, sir.

"Not from her finger--nor--? Let me look."

He examined the basin narrowly, and his countenance fell.