The following is a copy of the ducal ordinance to which reference was made in the above letter:—

The next letter, read in the Black Chamber upon this occasion, ran as follows:—

The third letter read upon this occasion, was addressed to Count Alteroni, Richmond, and ran in the following manner:—

"Number 29, you will understand," interrupted the Examiner, "evidently means the Grand Duke; and No. 1 represents Eliza Sidney. Proceed."

The clerk who read the letter continued as follows:—

"You have taken copies of these letters?" said the Examiner.

"Yes, sir," replied the clerk thus addressed.

"Then let them be immediately conveyed to the office of the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, as their contents are highly important."

"Yes, sir."

And this order was forthwith obeyed.

FORTY-two days after the appearance of Mr. Tomlinson's name in the Gazette, among the category of Bankrupts, the second examination of this gentleman took place at the Bankruptcy Court in Basinghall Street.

In an arm-chair, behind a desk raised upon a species of dais, sate the commissioner, embellished with a wig and gown. Close under the desk was placed the registrar, also with wig and gown; and two or three barristers, who were retained in the case, were similarly adorned. In a sort of pew on the right of the commissioner sate the official assignee, with a pile of books and papers before him. About two hundred persons thronged the room—most of whom, by their sullen and sinister looks, might be easily recognised as the creditors of the bankrupt. At a distance from the box in which witnesses were placed during examination, stood Count Alteroni, with folded arms and severe countenance.

A few moments before eleven o'clock a bustle was heard near the door; and a whisper of "Here's the trade assignee," ran through the crowd.

Mr. Greenwood entered the court with a patronising smile upon his countenance, and an easy kind of gait, as if he were by no means dissatisfied with himself. He was dressed in the most elegant manner; and his left hand played negligently, as usual, with the costly gold chain that festooned over his waistcoat.

As he passed through the crowd of his friend's creditors, many of whom were known to him, he addressed a few words in an off-hand and patronising manner to those whom he recognised at the moment.

"Only three thousand—that's all!" returned Mr. Chivers, with a smile which would have turned new milk sour.

"Oh! a mere song!" exclaimed Greenwood, tossing up his head. "Well, Vokes, are you here? you don't mean to say that you're wasting your time in this manner, eh?—Ah! Tullett, my good friend—delighted to see you. Why, how well you do look, to be sure!" (Mr. Tullett was in a rapid decline; and he "grinned horribly a ghastly smile" at this salutation.)

In this manner did Mr. Greenwood work his way through the crowd, until he reached the desk of the official assignee, by the side of whom he took a seat.

"Where's the bankrupt?" exclaimed the clerk of the court in a loud and imperious tone of voice, while Mr. Greenwood bestowed one of his patronising smiles upon the Commissioner.

"Here," replied Tomlinson; and he stood forward close by the witness-box.

He was pale and altered; and the marks of care and anxiety were visible upon his countenance. The glance he cast around him, as he took his stand in the presence of the Commissioner, was hurried and fearful:—he almost dreaded that the face of Michael Martin would meet his eyes as he thus hastily scanned the crowd by whom he was surrounded. But his alarm was without foundation: the old cashier was not there.

The examination of the bankrupt then commenced.

In answer to the questions put to him, he stated that had he delivered in to the assignees as full and complete a statement of his affairs as the loss of his books (which had been abstracted by the cashier at the time of the robbery) would permit.

Mr. Greenwood observed that the accounts were highly satisfactory, and would doubtless please every creditor present. It was, however, unfortunate that the estate would not pay a single farthing in the pound.

"Very unfortunate indeed," growled a creditor.

"I would much rather have heard that there was a dividend, than that the accounts are so very satisfactory," murmured another.

"Mr. Tomlinson's creditors cannot complain of him, your Honour," said Mr. Greenwood to the Commissioner: "on the contrary, they have every reason to be perfectly satisfied with him. He has given up every thing—"

"Why, there was nothing left to give up!" ejaculated Mr. Vokes.

"Nothing left to give up!" cried Mr. Greenwood, casting a stern glance upon the unfortunate creditor; "permit me, sir, as the trade-assignee duly chosen at the last meeting—permit me, sir, to inform you that there were the desks, counters, stools, and various fixtures of the bank—all of which Mr. Tomlinson surrendered in the most honourable and straightforward manner, and which have realized a hundred and eighty-one pounds, seventeen shillings, and sixpence, for the benefit of the estate."

"Well—and what has become of that sum?" demanded Mr. Vokes.

"Consumed by the expenses of the fiat," answered Mr. Greenwood coolly. "But, as I was observing, your Honour, when I was interrupted—interrupted in a most indecent manner—the position of Mr. Tomlinson is a most honourable one—"

"Perhaps it is even enviable," said the consumptive creditor, drily.

"And I for one," added Mr. Greenwood, "shall certainly sign his certificate."

"Have no tidings been heard of the cashier who absconded?" inquired the Commissioner.

"None, sir," answered the official assignee and Mr. Greenwood simultaneously.

"What has become of the bankrupt's furniture at his private residence?" demanded a creditor.

"His landlord issued a distress for a year's rent the moment the bank stopped," answered Greenwood. "The amount due to this most hard-hearted and unfeeling landlord is a hundred and twenty pounds, and the furniture would not fetch more at an auction. I therefore, with the full concurrence of the official assignee, allowed that very harsh man to keep the goods."

A barrister, who had been retained for one of the creditors, then proceeded to examine Mr. Tomlinson.

"You allege that about ninety-four thousand pounds were abstracted from the bank by the fugitive cashier?"

"I do—or as nearly as I can guess."

"And yet, by this balance-sheet, I perceive that your liabilities are two hundred thousand pounds. Were you not insolvent when the robbery was perpetrated?"

"It would appear so, certainly."

"Then how do you account for that immense deficiency?"

"I can account for it in no other manner than by presuming that my cashier had carried on a systematic mode of plunder for some years past; but as I placed implicit reliance on him, I was never led to an investigation of my actual position."

"Do you mean to say that your cashier embezzled many thousand pounds every year?"

"I am afraid that such was the fact."

The barrister asked no farther questions.

Another opposing counsel interrogated the bankrupt relative to his affairs; but Tomlinson's replies were given in a manner which afforded no scope for suspicion.

Ah! none divined how much it cost that unhappy man thus to heap shame and infamy upon the head of a faithful old clerk, who had never wronged him of a shilling!

The case terminated by the declaration of the commissioner that the bankrupt had passed his second examination.

Tomlinson was glad to escape from the frightful ordeal to which his feelings had been subjected for two mortal hours; and, while he hurried home to conceal his emotions from every eye, and meditate upon his condition in private, Mr. Greenwood busied himself in obtaining signatures for his certificate. This was an easy matter to a man of the financier's powers of persuasion; and that very afternoon the names of four-fifths of the bankrupt's creditors were attached to the parchment which was to relieve him of all past embarrassments.

"Which I would have given up to my creditors, had you permitted me," said Tomlinson sorrowfully.

"Nonsense, my dear fellow! Never give away what you can keep by a little manœuvring. Your landlord can now withdraw his friendly seizure, and all will be well."

"Nothing will render me happy until I find out that poor old man who has so nobly, so generously sacrificed himself for me," observed Tomlinson in a tone of deep dejection. "What can have become of him?"

"Oh! do not bother yourself about him," cried Greenwood impatiently. "He will turn up one of these days; and then you can remunerate him handsomely."

"Ah! that would indeed be a moment of supreme happiness for me!" ejaculated Tomlinson.

"Yes," continued Greenwood, musing: "a five-pound note will recompense the old fellow well for his conduct."

"A five-pound note!" repeated Tomlinson. "Can you be in earnest, Greenwood?"

"Well, if you think it is too much, give him a couple of sovereigns," said Greenwood, coolly. "But I must take leave of you now: I am compelled to devote a couple of hours this evening to the interests of that free and enlightened body whom I have the honour to represent in parliament. So, adieu, Tomlinson; and when your certificate is registered, come to me."

Mr. Greenwood then took his departure from the bankrupt's abode.

"The heartless villain!" cried Tomlinson, when the door had closed behind the financier; then, after a long pause, he added, "and yet his ingenuity has saved me from eternal degradation and shame!"

In the mean time Count Alteroni returned to his dwelling at Richmond. He reached home at about five o'clock in the evening, and found his wife and daughter anxiously awaiting his arrival. The moment he entered the drawing-room, the ladies cast a timid and yet inquiring glance towards him; and their hearts sank within them when their eyes caught sight of his severe and sombre expression of countenance.

"My dear wife—my beloved daughter," he said, advancing towards them, and taking the hand of each in his own, "my worst fears are confirmed. The bank will not pay one sixpence of dividend: Greenwood has contrived to get his fellow-conspirator clear of the tribunal; and the creditors have not a hope left. It was with the greatest difficulty that I could so far master my feelings as to avoid an interference in those most iniquitous proceedings. But my position—my rank forbade me from attempting aught to expose those villains. And now, my dear wife—now, my charming Isabella—prepare yourselves to hear the worst. We are ruined!"

"Ruined!" exclaimed both the countess and her daughter at the same moment.

"Oh! no," added Isabella: "we have many friends, my dear father."

"To whom I will not apply," said the count, proudly. "No—we must wrestle with our evil fortunes, and trust to the advent of better times. At present every thing seems to conspire to crush us; and should that contemplated marriage take place in Castelcicala——"

"My dearest husband," interrupted the countess, "do not aggravate present griefs by the apprehension of that which as yet only menace us. It is scarcely possible that the Grand Duke will perpetrate such a folly."

"And that title of Marchioness of Ziani—and that pension,—do they not speak volumes?" cried the count bitterly. "Oh! there are moments when I feel inclined to listen to the representations of those faithful friends in my own country with whom I correspond, and who are ever counselling me to——"

"Ah! my dearest father," exclaimed Isabella, bursting into tears; "would you endanger that life which is so precious to my mother and myself? would you plunge your native land in the horrors of a civil war? Oh! let us dare all our present ills with firmness and resolution; and if there be a guardian Providence—as I devoutly believe—he will not allow us to be persecuted for ever!"

"Noble girl!" cried the count; "you teach me my duty;"—and he embraced his lovely daughter with the utmost warmth and tenderness.

"Yes," said the countess, fondly pressing her husband's hand, "we are crushed only for a time. Our course is now clear:—we must give up our present establishment; and—as we have, thank God! no debts——"

"Ah! it is that which cuts me to the very soul!" interrupted the count. "You are not yet acquainted with the extent of our misfortunes. A brave fellow countryman of mine, who supported me in all the plans which I endeavoured to carry out for the welfare of the Castelcicalans, and who was driven into exile on my account, was imprisoned in London a few months ago for a considerable sum of money. I could not leave him to perish in a gaol. I became answerable for him—and the creditor is now pressing me for the payment of the debt."

"And what is the amount of this liability?" inquired the countess, hastily.

"Eighteen hundred pounds," was the reply.

"Do not suffer that to annoy you, my dearest father," exclaimed Isabella. "My jewellery and superfluous wardrobe will produce——"

"Alas! my dearest child," interrupted the count, "all that we possess would not realize any thing like that sum. But, happen what will, our first step must be to give up this furnished mansion, and retire to a more humble dwelling. That will not cost us many pangs. We shall still be together; and our love for each other constitutes our greatest happiness."

"Yes, my dearest husband," said the countess; "even a prison should not separate us."

"Where my beloved father is—where my parents are—there am I happy," murmured Isabella, the pearly tears trickling down her cheeks.

Oh! in that hour of his sorrow, how sweet—how sweet upon the ears of that noble Italian sounded the words, "husband" and "father," which, coupled with tender syllables of consolation, came from the lips of the two affectionate beings who clung to him so fondly. The lovely countenance of his daughter—so beautiful, that it seemed rather to belong to the ethereal inhabitants of heaven than to a mortal denizen of earth—was upturned to him; and her large black eyes, shining through her tears, beamed with an ineffable expression of tenderness and filial love.

"Yes, my beloved wife—my darling daughter," said the count; "we are ruined by my mad confidence in that villain Greenwood. You know that there is one means by which I could obtain wealth and release us from this cruel embarrassment. But never would either of you wish to see me sell my claims and resign my patriotism for gold! No—dearest partakers of my sad destinies, that may not be! I shall ever reject the offers of my persecutors with scorn; and until fortune may choose to smile upon us, we must learn to support her frowns with resignation."

"That same Almighty power which afflicts and chastises, can also restore gladness, and multiply blessings," said Isabella, solemnly.

A servant now entered the room to announce that dinner was served in another apartment.

Assuming a cheerful air, the count led his wife and daughter to the dining-room, and partook of the repast with a forced appetite, in order to avoid giving pain to those who watched all his movements and hung upon all his words with such tender solicitude.

After dinner, the count, still pondering upon the scene in which a tender wife and affectionate daughter had administered to him such sweet consolation, and experiencing a delicious balm in the domestic felicity which he enjoyed, said to Isabella, "Read me from your Album, my dear girl, those lines which a poet is supposed to address to his wife, and which always possess new charms for me."

Isabella hastened to obey her father's wishes, and read, in a soft and silver tone, the following stanzas:—

THE POET TO HIS WIFE.

Scarcely had Isabella finished these lines, when a servant entered the room, and announced a Mr. Johnson, "who had some pressing business to communicate, and who was very sure that he shouldn't be considered an intruder."

Mr. Johnson—a queer-looking, shabby-genteel, off-hand kind of a man—made his appearance close behind the servant, over whose shoulder he leered ominously.

"I b'lieve you're Count Alteroni, air you?" was Mr. Johnson's first question.

"I am. What is your business with me?"

"I'm come from Rolfe, the attorney, in Clements' Inn," was the reply: "he—"

"Oh! I suppose he has sent you to say that he will accord me the delay I require?" interrupted the count.

"Not quite that there neither," said the man; then, sinking his voice to a mysterious whisper, and glancing towards the ladies with an air of embarrassment, he added, "The fact is, I've got a execution agin your person—a ca-sa, you know, for eighteen hundred and costs."

"A writ—a warrant!" ejaculated the count aloud. "You do not mean to say that you are come to take me to prison?"

"Not exactly that either," replied Mr. Johnson. "You needn't go to quod, you know. You can come to our lock-up in the New-Cut, Lambeth, where you'll be as snug as if you was in your own house, barring liberty."

"I understand you," said the count; then, turning to his wife and daughter, he added, "My dears, the evil moment is arrived. This person is a bailiff come to arrest me; and I must go with him. I implore you not to take this misfortune to heart:—it was sure to happen; and it might just as well occur to-day as a week or a month hence."

"And whither will they take you?" asked the countess, bursting into tears. "Cannot we be allowed to accompany you?"

"You can come, ma'am, and see his lordship to-morrow," said the bailiff; "and you can stay with him from ten in the morning till nine in the evening—or may-be till half-arter ten as a wery partick'lar faviour—for which you'll on'y have to pay half a sufferin extray. But there's my man."

A sneaking kind of knock—something more than a single one, not so much as a double one, and by no means as bold as a postman's—had been heard the moment before the bailiff uttered these last words; and while he went in person to inform his acolyte that the caption was made, and that he might wait in the hall, the count endeavoured to soothe and console the two afflicted ladies who now clung to him in the most impassioned and distracted manner.

"To-morrow, my dear father—to-morrow, the moment the clock strikes ten, we will be with you," said Isabella. "Oh! how miserably will pass the hours until that period!"

"Will you not now permit me, my dearest husband, to see the Envoy of Castelcicala, and—"

"No," answered the count firmly. "Did we not agree ere now to support with resignation all that fortune might have in store for us?"

"Ah! pardon me—I forgot," said the countess. "I am overwhelmed with grief. Oh! what a blow—and for you!"

"Show yourselves worthy of your high rank and proud name," cried the nobleman; "and all will yet be well."

At this moment the bailiff returned to the room.

"I am now ready to accompany you," said the count.

"It would be a monstrous mockery for any one to proceed to a prison in his own luxurious vehicle," said the count sternly. "As you came, so may you return. I will accompany you in an omnibus."

The count embraced his wife and daughter tenderly, and with much difficulty tore himself away, in order to leave a comfortable home for a miserable sponging-house.

TEN days after the arrest of Count Alteroni, a young lady was proceeding, at about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, down the Blackfriars Road.

She was dressed plainly, but with that exquisite taste which denotes a polished mind, and is in itself an aristocracy of sentiment. She looked neither to the right nor to the left: her pace was somewhat rapid, as if she were anxious to arrive at her destination:—and though there was something timid in her manner as she threaded her way along the crowded thoroughfare, few who passed her could help turning round to obtain another glimpse of the sylph-like form of that unassuming girl.

From the opposite direction advanced a young man of tall and handsome appearance, neatly dressed, and with a shade of melancholy upon his countenance.

In a few moments he met the young lady, and was about to pass her, when his eyes happened to catch a glimpse of her lovely features.

He started with surprise, exclaiming, "Signora! is it possible? Do we indeed meet again? Ah! it seems to me that it is an age since I saw you, dearest Isabella!"

"And since we last met, Richard, many unfortunate events have happened. My poor father—"

"Your father! what can have happened to him?" cried Markham, struck by the mournful tone of the beauteous Italian.

"He is in the Queen's Bench Prison," replied Isabella, her eyes filling with tears.

"In the Queen's Bench! And you are going to him now? Oh! Isabella, you must tell me how all this happened: I will escort you a little way;"—and with these words, Richard offered his arm to the signora, who accepted it with a ready confidence in him whom she loved, and whose presence was by no means displeasing to her at that moment when she stood so much in need of consolation.

"You are aware," resumed Isabella, "that my father intrusted a considerable sum of money to Mr. Greenwood."

"The villain!" ejaculated Markham warmly.

"I cannot explain to you exactly how it was that my father accepted the security of Mr. Tomlinson, the banker, for that amount, as I am not acquainted with matters of business;—but he did so, and released Mr. Greenwood."

"And Tomlinson failed—and your father lost all!"

"Alas! he did;—and he is now imprisoned for a sum for which he had become answerable to serve a friend," said Isabella.

"How long has the count been in—in—"

"In prison," added the signora mournfully. "He was arrested ten days ago; and, by the advice of a solicitor, he removed on the following day from the bailiff's private house to the Bench."

"And the countess?"

"My mother is very unwell to-day, and could not leave her room; and I am now on my way to visit my poor father. We have left Richmond altogether; and my mother and myself occupy lodgings in the Blackfriars Road, near the bridge."

"Ten days ago this happened, Isabella," said Richard reproachfully; "and you did not acquaint me with what had occurred?"

"Ah! Richard—you know well that circumstances forbade me;—or else—"

"Or else? Speak—dearest Isabella."

"Or else I believe you would have given my father the best advice how to proceed. He is too proud to apply to his friends; and he cannot—he must not remain in prison. His health would sink under the idea of degradation that has taken possession of him."

"That villain Greenwood!" said Markham, musing. "When will the day of retribution arrive for him?"

"We must now part, Richard," observed Isabella, as they came in view of the dingy wall of the Queen's Bench Prison, crowned by chevaux-de-frise.

"Yes—we must part again," said Markham mournfully. "But how happy should I have been had we met this morning under other circumstances! How I should have blessed the accident that brought me thus early this morning on some business of my own, to this neighbourhood! Oh! Isabella, you know not how constantly I think of you—how unceasingly I dwell upon your dear image!"

"And can you suppose, Richard, that I never devote a thought to you?" said Isabella, in a low and plaintive tone. "But we must not talk upon such a subject at present. Let us hope for happier times."

With these words the young lady returned the pressure of her lover's hand, and hurried towards the Queen's Bench.

Markham loitered about the spot for five minutes, and then proceeded to the lobby of the prison. There he inquired into the particulars of Count Alteroni's detention; and ascertained that he had been arrested for eighteen hundred pounds, with costs.

He then left the gloomy precincts of the debtors' gaol, and retraced his steps towards the City.

"Eighteen hundred pounds would procure the count's liberation," he said to himself: "eighteen hundred pounds, which he does not possess, and which he is too proud to borrow,—eighteen hundred pounds, which would restore him to his family, and make Isabella happy! My property is worth four thousand pounds:—if I raise two thousand pounds upon it, I shall curtail my income by exactly one half. I shall have one hundred pounds a-year remaining. But my education was good—my acquirements are not contemptible: surely I can turn them to some account?"

But not for one moment did this noble-hearted young man hesitate relative to the course he should pursue; and without delay he proceeded to the office of Mr. Dyson, his solicitor, in the City.

There the business was speedily explained and put in train. It would, however, require, said the solicitor, four days to terminate the affair; but Markham did not leave him until he had fixed the precise moment when the deeds were to be signed and the money paid over.

Richard returned home in a state of mind more truly happy than he had known for some time past. He had resolved upon an immense sacrifice, to benefit those whom he esteemed or loved; and he was prepared to meet any consequences which it might produce. This is human nature. We may inure ourselves to the contemplation of any idea, however appalling or alarming it may appear at first sight, without a shudder and almost without a regret. The convict, under sentence of death in the condemned cell, and his ears ringing with the din of the hammers erecting the scaffold, does not experience such acute mental agony as the world are apt to suppose. We all have the certainty of death, at some date more or less near, before our eyes; and yet this conviction does not trouble our mental equanimity. The convict who is doomed to die, is only worse off than ourselves inasmuch as the precise day, hour, and moment of his fate are revealed to him; but his death, which is to be sudden and only of a moment's pain, must be a thousand times preferable to the long, lingering, agonising throes of sickness which many of those who pity him are eventually doomed to endure before their thread of existence shall be severed for ever!

Yes—we can bring our minds to meet every species of mortal affliction with resignation, and even with cheerfulness;—and there is no sorrow, no malady, no pang, which issued from Pandora's box, that did not bear the imprint of hope along with it!

True to the appointed time, Richard proceeded to the office of Mr. Dyson, on the fourth day from the commencement of the business.

He signed the papers and received two thousand pounds.

The lawyer shook his head, implying his fears that his client was improvident and wasteful.

He was, however, speedily undeceived.

"Will you have the kindness to accompany me in a cab?" said Markham. "You can render me a service in the way in which I am about to dispose of this money."

"Certainly," returned Mr. Dyson, "Are you going far?"

"Not very," answered Richard; and when they were both seated in the vehicle, he told the driver to proceed towards the Queen's Bench Prison, but to stop at some distance from the gates.

These directions were obeyed.

"Now, Mr. Dyson," said Richard, "will you have the kindness to repair to the office of the prison, and inquire the amount of debts for which a certain Count Alteroni is detained in custody?"

Mr. Dyson obeyed the instructions thus given to him, and in ten minutes returned from the prison with a copy of causes in his hand.

"Count Alteroni is a prisoner for eighteen hundred and twenty-one pounds," said the lawyer.

"Are there any fees or extra expenses beyond the sum specified in that paper?" asked Richard.

"Yes—merely a few shillings," replied the solicitor.

"I wish, then, that every liability of Count Alteroni be settled in such a way that he may quit the prison without being asked for a single shilling. Here is the necessary amount: pay all that is due—and pay liberally."

"My dear sir," said the lawyer, hesitating, "I hope you have well reflected upon what you are about to do."

"Yes—yes," answered Richard impatiently: "I have well reflected, I can assure you."

"Two thousand pounds—or nearly so—is a large sum, Mr. Markham."

"I have weighed all the consequences."

"At least, then, you have received ample security—"

"Not a scrap of paper."

"Had I not better call and see this nobleman, and obtain from him a warrant of attorney or cognovit—"

"So far from doing any such thing," interrupted Markham, "you must take especial care not to mention to a soul the name of the person who has employed you to effect the count's release—not a syllable must escape your lips on this head; nor need you acquaint the clerks whom you may see, with your own name. In a word, the affair must be buried in profound mystery."

"Since you are determined," said Mr. Dyson, "I will obey your instructions to the very letter. But, once again, excuse me if I request you to reflect whether—"

"My dear sir, I have nothing more to reflect upon; and you will oblige me by terminating this business as speedily as possible."

The solicitor returned to the prison; and Markham, whom he now considered to be foolish or mad, instead of improvident and extravagant, threw himself back in the vehicle, and gave way to his reflections. His eyes were, however, turned towards the road leading to the Bench; for he was anxious to watch for the re-appearance of his agent.

Ten minutes had elapsed, when his attention was directed to two ladies who passed by the cab, and advanced towards the prison-gate.

He leant forward—he could not be mistaken:—no—it was indeed she—the idol of his adoration—the being whom he loved with a species of worship! She was walking with the countess. They were on their way to visit the count in his confinement; but Richard could not catch a glimpse of their countenances—though he divined full well that they wore not an expression of joy. It was not, however, necessary for him to behold Isabella's face, in order to recognise her:—he knew her by her symmetrical form, the elegant contours of which, even the ample shawl she wore could not hide: he knew her by her step—by her graceful and dignified gesture—by her lady-like, and yet unassuming gait.

Oh! how speedily, thought he within himself, were she and her parents to be restored to happiness again!

In about a quarter of an hour after the ladies had entered the prison, Dyson returned to his client.

"Is it all settled?" demanded Markham.

"Every thing," answered the lawyer.

"And when can the count leave the prison?"

"Almost immediately," replied Dyson, as he entered the vehicle once more.

Markham then ordered the driver to return to the City.

The count was seated at a table covered with books and papers, and was busily occupied in arranging the latter when the countess and signora entered the room. They were instantly welcomed with the most affectionate warmth by the noble prisoner: and he endeavoured to assume a cheerful air in their presence.

"Any letters?" said the count, after the usual inquiries concerning health and comfort.

"None this morning," answered the countess. "And now, my dear husband, tell me—have you settled any plan to effect your release?"

"No," said the count. "I must trust to events. Were Armstrong alive, I should not hesitate to accept a loan from him;—but to none other would I apply."

At this moment a knock at the door of the prison chamber was heard; and the two inseparables, Captain Smilax Dapper and Sir Cherry Bounce, made their appearance.

"My dear count, you don't mean to say that it is really true, and that you are here on your own account—strike me!" ejaculated the gallant hussar.

"The newth wath twue—too twue, you thee, Thmilackth," said Sir Cherry, shuddering visibly, and without any affectation too as he glanced around him.

"True indeed!" cried the count, bitterly.

"I wonder whether they will let uth out again?" said Sir Cherry, gazing from the window. "But, I declare, they have got wacket-gwoundth here, and no leth than thwee pumpth. What can the pwithonerth want with tho muth water?"

"What, indeed—confound me!" exclaimed the captain. "For my part, I always heard that they lived upon beer. But tell me—how much is there against you?"

"Yeth—how muth?" echoed Sir Cherry Bounce.

"A mere trifle," answered the count evasively. "I have been cruelly robbed, and my present position is the result."

"Well," continued the captain, with remarkable embarrassment of manner, "we are all here together—and so there is no harm in speaking openly, you know—and Cherry isn't anybody, strike him!—I was thinking that a very satisfactory arrangement might be made. Always strike when the iron's hot! I have long entertained a high respect for your family, count: my late uncle, the general, who introduced me and Cherry to you, always spoke in the best possible terms of you, although he never said much about your past life, and even hinted that there was some mystery—"

"To what is all this to lead, Captain Dapper?" exclaimed the count, somewhat impatiently.

"Simply that—why do you stand there, laughing like a fool, Cherry?"

"Me, Thmilackth?"

"Yes—you. Well, as I was saying when Cherry interrupted me—I have always entertained the highest possible opinion of your family, count, and especially of the signora; and if she would accept my hand and heart—why, strike me! an arrangement could be made in four and twenty hours—"

"Captain Dapper," interrupted the count, "no more of this. I believe that you would not wantonly insult either my daughter or myself; but I cannot listen to the terms to which you allude."

"My dear count—"

"Silence, sir! No more of this!" exclaimed the noble Italian.

There was a pause, which was broken by the entrance of one of the turnkeys.

"Sir, I have the pleasure to inform you that you are discharged," said that functionary.

"Discharged!" ejaculated the count: "impossible! How could I be discharged?"

The countess and Isabella surveyed the turnkey with looks of the most intense and painful anxiety.

"A stranger has sent his solicitor to pay every thing against you at the gate; and all the fees and the little donations to us and the criers are paid also."

"You are bantering me, sirrah!" cried the count. "You are mistaken. The Envoy from my native land, who alone of all my acquaintances is capable of doing an action of this generous nature, and in so delicate a manner, has been absent from London for the last ten days, and is even unaware of my situation. Who then could have paid my debts?"

A name trembled upon Isabella's tongue; but the word died upon her lips. She dared not pronounce that name—although her heart told her that her surmise was correct, and that Richard Markham was the secret friend to whom her father was indebted for his liberty. Richard! the reward of thy good deed had already commenced by the feelings which now changed the love that the beauteous girl had hitherto experienced for thee, into an adoration and a worship!

"Well, sir," said the turnkey, "we don't know who has done this, and it wasn't our business to inquire. All I can say is, that the debt is paid, the fees settled, and you may leave the place as soon as you like."

"Dapper, this is your doing," cried the count, after a moment's pause. "And yet—"

"No—strike me!—I had nothing to do with it—I wish I had now."

We shall not attempt to describe the delight of the Italian family, when they found that the joyful tidings were indeed true; but all the count's conjectures, to fix this generous and noble deed upon any particular member of his acquaintance, were alike unsatisfactory and unavailing:—Isabella alone divined the truth.

MARKHAM was not the man to remain idle now that his circumstances were so desperately reduced. He had a taste for literary pursuits, and he resolved to devote his talents to some advantage. His income was totally insufficient to support his establishment, and yet he knew not how to effect any very great economy in the mode of conducting it. He would not for worlds allow Mr. Monroe and Ellen to leave his house, and again enter upon a struggle with the world. With Whittingham nothing could have induced him to part;—Marian was the only female domestic he kept, and he could not dispense with her services. Holford alone was an incumbrance of which he thought of relieving himself. But before he adopted any measure of economical reform, he summoned the faithful Whittingham to a consultation with him in the library.

When Markham had made the butler acquainted with his altered circumstances, the old man shook his head, and observed—