impede, the tortoise pace of his negotiations. It will be no matter of wonder to such, that a month instead of three days wasted away, and found him precisely in the same position, with hopes a little raised, though so frequently blasted, and nothing done.

In recording the annoyances, or rather the adversity which the young pair endured at this period, a risk is run, on the one hand, of being censured for bringing the reader into contact with degrading and sordid miseries; and on the other, of laying too much stress on circumstances which will appear to those in a lower sphere of life, as scarcely deserving the name of misfortune. It is very easy

to embark on the wild ocean of romance, and to steer a dangerfraught passage, amidst giant perils,—the very words employed, excite the imagination, and give grace to the narrative. But all beautiful and fairylike as was Ethel Villiers, in tracing her fortunes, it is necessary to descend from such altitudes, to employ terms of vulgar use, and to describe scenes of common-place and debasing interest; so that, if she herself, in her youth and feminine tenderness, does not shed light and holiness around her, we shall grope darkling, and fail utterly in the scope which we proposed to ourselves in selecting her history for the entertainment of the reader.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

I saw her upon nearer view,

A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

A Creature not too bright or good

For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

WORDSWORTH.

The end of December had come. New year's day found and left them still in Duke Street. On the 4th of January Villiers received a letter from his uncle, Lord Maristow, intrusting a commission to him, which obliged him to go to the neighbourhood of Egham. Not having a horse, he went by the stage. He set out so late in the day that there was no chance of his returning the same night; and he promised to be back early on the morrow. Ethel had letters to write to Italy and to her aunt; and with these she tried to beguile the time. She felt lonely; the absence of Villiers for so many hours engendered an anxiety, which she found some difficulty in repressing. Accustomed to have him perpetually at her side, and without any other companion or resource, she repined at her solitude. There was his empty chair, and no hope that he would occupy it; and she sat in her little room so near to thousands, and yet so cut off from every one, with such a sense of desolation as Mungo Park might have felt in central Africa, or a shipwrecked mariner on an uninhabited island.

Her pen was taken up, but she did not write. She could not command her thoughts to express anything but the overflowing, devoted, all-engrossing affection of her heart, her adoration for her husband; that would not amuse Lucy,-she thought and she had commenced another sheet with "" My dearest Aunt, when the maidservant ushered a man into her presence-a stranger, a work

ing man. What could he want with her? He seemed confused, and stammered out," Mr. Villiers is not in?"

"He will be at home to-morrow, if you want him; or have you any message that I can give?"

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'You are Mrs. Villiers, ma'am?"

Yes, my good man, I am Mrs. Villiers.

"If you please, ma'am, I am Saunders, one of the porters at the Union Club. "

:

"I remember has any message come there? or does Mr. Villiers owe you any money?" and her purse was in her hand.

"O no, ma'am. Mr. Villiers is a good gentleman; and he has been petiklar generous to me—and that is why I come, because I am afraid," continued the man, lowering his tone, "that he is in danger."

"Good heavens! Where? how?" cried Ethel, starting from her chair, "tell me at once.

"Yes, ma'am, I will; so you must know that this evening-

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Yes, this evening. What has happened? he left me at six o'clock -what is it?"

"Nothing, I hope, this evening, ma'am. I am only afraid for tomorrow morning. And I will tell you all I know, as quick as ever. I can. 29

The man then proceeded to relate, that some one had been inquiring about Mr. Villiers at the Club House. One of the servants had told him that he lived in Duke Street, St. James's, and that was all he knew ; but Saunders came up, and the man questioned him. He instantly recognized the fellow, and knew what his business must be. And he tried to deceive him, and declared that Mr. Villiers was gone out of town; but the fellow said that he knew better than that; and that he had been seen that very day in the Strand. He should look for him, no thanks to Saunders, in Duke Street. "And so, ma'am, you see they'll be sure to be here early to-morrow morning. So don't let Mr. Villiers stay here, on no account whatsomever."

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Why?" asked Ethel, simply; "they can't hurt him."

“I am sure, ma'am," said Saunders, his face brightening, “I am very glad to hear that—you know best. They will arrest him

for sure,

but--"

"Arrest him! 29

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Yes, ma'am, for I've seen the tall one before. There were two of them-bailiffs."

Ethel now began to tremble violently; these were strange, cabalistic words to her, the more awful from their mystery. "What am I to do?" she exclaimed; "Mr. Villiers will be here in the morning, he sleeps at Egham, and will be here early; I must go to him directly."

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I am glad to hear he is so far," said Saunders; " and if I can be of any use you have but to say it; shall I go to Egham? there are night coaches that go through, and I might warn him. "

Ethel thought she feared to do anything-she imagined that she should be watched, that all her endeavours would be of no avail. She looked at the man, honesty was written on his face; but there was no intelligence, nothing to tell her that his advice was good. The possibility of such an event as the present had never occurred to her. Villiers had been silent with regard to his fears on this head. She was suddenly transported into a strange sea, hemmed in by danger, without a pilot or knowledge of a passage. Again she looked at the man's face : "What is best to be done!" she exclaimed.

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"I am sure, ma'am,” he replied, as if she had asked him the question. "I think what I said is best, if you will tell me where I can find Mr. Villiers. I should think nothing of going, and he could send word by me what he wished you to do."

"Yes, that would indeed be a comfort. I will write three lines, and you shall take them. In a moment she had written. "Give this note into his own hand, he will sleep there-I have written the direction of the house-or at some inn, at Egham. Do not rest till you have given the letter, and here is for your trouble. " She held out two sovereigns.

"Depend on me, maʼam; and I will bring an answer to you by nine in the morning. Mr. Villiers will pay me what he thinks fityou may want your money. Only, ma'am, don't be frightened when them men come to-morrow-if the people here are good sort of folks, you had better give them a hint-it may save you trouble. "Thank you you are a good man, and I will remember you, and reward you. By nine to-morrow-you will be punctual?"

:

The man again assured her that he would use all diligence, and took his leave.

Ethel felt totally overwhelmed by thesê tidings. The unknown is always terrible, and the ideas of arrest, and prison, and bolts, and bars, and straw, floated before her imagination. Was Villiers safe even where he was? Would not the men make inquiries, learn where he had gone, and follow him, even if it were to the end of the world? She had heard of the activity employed to arrest criminals, and mingled every kind of story in her head, till she grew desperate from terror. Not knowing what else to do, she became eager for Mrs. Derham's advice, and hurried down stairs to ask it.

She had not seen much of the good lady since her first arrival. Every day, when Villiers went out, she came up, indeed, on the momentous question of "orders for dinner;" and then she bestowed the benefit of some five or ten minutes garrulity on her fair lodger. Ethel learnt that she had seen better days, and that were justice done her, she ought to be riding in her coach, instead of letting lodgings. She learnt that she had a married daughter living at Kennington poor enough, but struggling on cheerfully with her mother's help. The best girl in the world she was, and a jewel of a wife, and had two of the most beautiful children that ever were beheld.

This was all that Ethel knew, except that once Mrs. Derham had brought her one of her grandchildren to be seen and admired. In all that the good woman said, there was so much kindness, such a cheerful endurance of the ills of life, and she had shown such a readiness to oblige, that the idea of applying to her for advice, relieved Ethel's mind of much of its load of anxiety.

She was too much agitated to think of ringing for the servant, to ask to see her; but hurried down stairs, and knocked at the parlour-door almost before she was aware of what she was doing. "Come in," said a feminine voice. Ethel entered, and started to see one she knew;-and yet again she doubted;-was it indeed Fanny Derham whom she beheld?

The recognition afforded mutual pleasure: checked a little on Ethel's part, by her anxieties; and on Fanny's, by a feeling that she had been neglected by her friend. A few letters had passed between them, when first Ethel had visited Longfield : since then