Lady Ogram
gave an order; it was imperfectly obeyed. Lady Ogram, her eyes
blazing with wrath, demanded an explanation of this neglect; met
with inadequate excuses, she thundered and lightened. Any ordinary
domestic would have been terror-stricken, but this handmaid echoed
storm with storm; she fronted the lady of Rivenoak as no one had
ever dared to do. The baronet's widow, losing all command of
herself, caught up the nearest missile--a little ivory-framed
hand-mirror and hurled it at her antagonist, who was struck full on
the forehead and staggered.
"You shall pay for this, you old hag," shrieked the injured woman.
"I'll pull you up before the Hollingford magistrates, and I'll tell
them where you got your manners. I know now that it's true, what
Mrs. Robb told my sister, that you began life as a "Saxon
monosyllable--" on London streets!"
Some minutes later, a servant sent to Lady Ogram's room by the
retreating combatant found her mistress lying unconscious. For a day
or two the lady of Rivenoak was thought to be near her end; but the
struggle prolonged itself, hope was seen, and in three months' time
the patient went about her garden and park in a bath chair.
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