"I am afraid that your lordship has now afforded me a clue to the mystery which has perplexed me," said the Earl of Warrington coldly.

"And as a nobleman devoted to your country, your lordship must recognise the imperious necessity of adopting such a course, at times, as the one now made known to you."

"As a nobleman devoted to my country," exclaimed the Earl of Warrington proudly, "I abhor and detest all underhand means of obtaining information which serves as a guide for diplomatic intrigue, but which in nowise affects the sterling interests of the state."

"Your lordship speaks warmly," said the Minister.

"And were I in my place in Parliament, I should speak more warmly—far more warmly still. I am, however, here in your lordship's apartment, and the laws of courtesy do not permit me to express my feelings as I elsewhere should do—and as I elsewhere shall do."

"Your lordship will reflect," said the Minister, now really alarmed,—"your lordship will reflect—maturely—seriously——"

"It requires no reflection to teach me my duty."

"But, my dear earl——"

"My lord?"

"The peace of the country frequently depends upon the information which we acquire in this manner."

"Then had the peace of the country better be occasionally menaced, than that the sacred envelope of a letter should be violated?"

"Your lordship is too severe," said the Minister.

"No—my lord: I am not, under the circumstances, severe enough. Behold the gross injustice of the system. The law forbids us to transmit sealed letters through any other medium than the Post-office; and yet that very Post-office is made the scene of the violation of those sacred missives. My lord, it is impossible to defend so atrocious a proceeding. Now, my lord, I have spoken as warmly as I feel."

"Really, my dear earl, you must not permit this little business to go any further. You shall have for your friends every satisfaction they require: their correspondence shall be strictly inviolate in future. And now, my lord," continued the Minister, with a smile whose deceptive blandness Mr. Greenwood would have envied, "let me request attention to another point. The Premier has placed your lordship's name on the list of peers who are to be raised to a more elevated rank ere the opening of the next session; and your lordship may exchange your coronet of an earldom against that of a marquisate."

"Her Majesty's government," replied the earl with chilling—freezing hauteur, "would do well to reserve that honour in respect to me, until it may choose to reward me when I shall have performed a duty that I owe my country, and exposed a system to express my full sense of which I dare not now trust my tongue with epithets. Good morning, my lord."

And the Earl of Warrington walked proudly from the room.

On the following day a cabinet council was held at the Home Office.

IT was evening; and Lady Cecilia Harborough was seated alone in the drawing-room of the house which she and her husband occupied in Tavistock Square.

A cheerful fire blazed in the grate: the lamp upon the table diffused a soft and mellow lustre through the apartment.

Lady Cecilia's manner was pensive: a deep shade of melancholy overspread her countenance; and at times her lips quivered, and her bosom heaved convulsively.

She was evidently attempting to struggle with feelings of a very painful nature.

"Slighted—neglected—perhaps despised!" she at length murmured. "Oh! what an indignity! To have yielded myself up entirely to that man—and now to be cast aside in this manner! For months past have I observed that his conduct grew more and more cool towards me;—his visits became less frequent;—he made appointments with me and did not keep them;—he remonstrated with me for what he called my extravagance, when I asked him for money! Ah! how I endeavoured to close my eyes to the truth:—I forced myself to put faith in his excuses for absence—I compelled myself to be satisfied with his apologies for not keeping his engagements. Fool that I have been! Had I reproached—wept—stormed—and quarrelled, as other women would have done, he would yet be my slave: but I was too pliant—too easy—too docile,—and he has ended by contemning me! I wanted spirit—I was deficient in courage—I practised no artifice. I should have refused him my favours when he was most impassioned; I should have tantalized him—acted with caprice—set a high value upon the pleasures which he enjoyed in my arms. Oh! it is cruel—cruel! I have been the pensioned harlot of that man! He commanded the use of my person as he would that of the lowest prostitute in the street. I was too cheap—too willing—too ready to meet him half way in the dalliance of love! I caught a fine bird—and by leaving his cage open, have allowed him an opportunity to fly away! The indignity is insufferable! For weeks I had not asked him for a shilling—for weeks I had not spoken to him on the subject of money. And now—to-day—when I require a hundred guineas for urgent matters, to be refused! to be denied that paltry sum! Oh! it is monstrous! And not to come himself to explain,—but to send a cool note, expressing a regret that the numerous demands he has had upon him lately render it impossible for him to comply with my request! A worn-out excuse—a wretched apology! And for him, too, who absolutely rolls in riches! I never could have believed it. Even now it appears a dream! Ah! the ungrateful monster! It is true that he has supplied me at times in the most generous manner,—that he redeemed my jewels for me a second time, some months ago, when Rupert played me that vile trick by plundering me during my absence;—but, alas! the jewels have returned to their old place—and who is to redeem them now?"

Lady Cecilia paused, and compressed her lips together.

She felt herself slighted—perhaps for some rival: and whose sufferings are more acute than those of a neglected woman? who experiences mental pangs more poignant?

Lady Cecilia felt herself degraded. She now comprehended that she had been made the instrument of a heartless libertine's pleasures; and that he coolly thrust her aside when literally satiated with her charms.

This was a most debasing conviction—debasing beyond all others, for a patrician lady!

She had no virtue—but she had pride.

The highest bidder might enjoy her person, so voluptuous was she by nature—so ready also was she to make any sacrifice to obtain the means of gratifying her extravagance.

Love with her was not a refinement—it was a sensuality.

Still she had her pride—her woman's pride; for even the most degraded courtezan has that; and it was her pride that was now so deeply wounded.

She knew not what course to pursue.

Should she endeavour to bring Greenwood back to her arms?

Or should she be revenged?

If she resolved upon the former, what wiles was she to adopt—what artifices to employ?

If she decided upon the latter, what point in her neglectful lover was vulnerable—what weapon could she use?

A woman does not like to choose the alternative of vengeance, because such a proceeding implies the absence of all hope and of all power of recalling the faithless one.

And yet what was Lady Cecilia to do? That refusal of the money which she had requested, appeared expressive of Mr. Greenwood's determination to break off the connexion.

In that case nothing remained to her but vengeance.

Such were her thoughts.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sudden entrance of her husband Sir Rupert Harborough. His face was flushed with drinking—for he had dined, with his friend Chichester, at a tavern; and his cares had forced him to apply with even more than usual liberality to the bottle.

He threw himself into a chair opposite to his wife, and said, "Well, Cecilia, I have got very bad news to tell you."

"Indeed, Sir Rupert?" she said, in a tone which signified that she also had her annoyances, and would rather not be troubled with his.

"I have, on my honour!" cried the baronet. "In fact, Cecilia, I must find a thousand pounds to-morrow by twelve o'clock."

Lady Cecilia only laughed ironically.

"You make merry, madam, at my misfortunes," said Sir Rupert; "but I can assure you that the present is no laughing matter."

"And I unfortunately have no more diamonds and jewellery for you to rob me of," returned the lady.

"No, Cecilia—but you are my wife; and the disgrace that falls upon your husband would redound on yourself."

"Oh! if you be afraid of rusticating in the Queen's Bench prison for a season, I would advise you to make yourself easy on that head; because—"

"Because what, Cecilia?"

"Because I can assure all your friends and acquaintances that you are merely passing the winter in Paris."

"Ridiculous!" cried the baronet impatiently.

"Not so ridiculous as you imagine," returned Lady Cecilia. "You are accustomed, you know, to leave home for weeks and months together."

"Lady Cecilia, this is no time for either ill-feeling or sarcasm. If we have no love for one another, at least let us sit down and converse calmly upon the urgency of our present situation."

"Our situation?" ejaculated Cecilia.

"Yes—ours," repeated the baronet emphatically. "In one word, Cecilia, can you possibly raise a thousand pounds?"

To a person who had not the means of obtaining even the tenth part of that sum, and who had herself been disappointed that very evening in her endeavour to procure a hundred guineas, the question put by the baronet appeared in so ridiculous a light, that—in spite of her own annoyances—Lady Cecilia threw herself back in her chair, and burst into a loud and hearty laugh.

Sir Rupert rose and paced the room in an agitated manner; for he was totally at a loss what course to pursue. His only hope was in his wife; and yet he knew not how to break the fatal news to her.

"My God! Cecilia," he exclaimed, after a pause, during which he resumed his seat, "you will drive me mad!"

"You have become very sensitive of late, Sir Rupert; and yet I was not aware that you were so weak-minded as to tremble upon the verge of insanity. Certainly your conduct has never led me to suppose that you were over sane."

"My dear Cecilia, cease this raillery, in the name of every thing sacred," cried the baronet. "I tell you that ruin hangs over me—ruin of the most fearful nature—ruin in which your own name, as that of my wife, will be compromised—"

"Then tell me at once what you dread, and I will tell you whether I can assist you; for I know perfectly well that you require me to do something."

"Do not ask me what it is, Cecilia; but say—can you procure from any quarter—from any quarter, mind—a thousand pounds?"

"Absurd! Sir Rupert," answered the lady. "I have no means of helping myself at this moment—much less of providing so large a sum to supply your extravagance. This is a debt of honour, I presume—a debt contracted at the gambling table."

"No—it is far more serious than that, Cecilia; and you must exert yourself. If I do not have that amount by twelve to-morrow, the consequences will be most fatal. I know you can borrow the money for me—you have resources, no matter where or how—I ask no questions—I do not wish to pry into your secrets—"

"You are really very considerate, Sir Rupert. You do not wish to pry into my secrets: but you would not hesitate to pry into my drawers and boxes, if you thought there was any thing in them worth taking."

And as she uttered these words, a smile of superb contempt curled her vermilion lips.

Sir Rupert was maddened by this behaviour on the part of his wife; and with difficulty could he restrain his feelings of rage and hatred.

"Madam," he exclaimed, "I ask you to throw aside your raillery, and converse with me—for once—in a serious manner."

"I am willing to do so, Sir Rupert," answered Cecilia; "but you really appear to be joking me yourself. You speak in enigmas about the ruin that hangs over you and will involve me;—you refuse to entrust me with more of your secret than is necessary to serve as a preface for your demand;—and that demand is a thousand pounds! A thousand pounds are required in a few hours of a person who has no diamonds to pledge—no friends to apply to—"

"And all this has been done without the contribution of one shilling on the part of my husband towards the household expenses," added Lady Cecilia.

"I am glad you have mentioned that point," exclaimed Sir Rupert: "it proves that you have friends—that perhaps your father and mother assist you in private,—in a word, that you have some resources. Now what those resources may be, I do not ask you: all I require is assistance—now—within a few hours—before twelve to-morrow."

"Even if I could raise the sum you require," said Cecilia, "I would not think of giving it to you without knowing for what destination it was intended."

"And can you procure the sum, if I reveal to you—if I tell you——"

"I promise nothing," interrupted Lady Cecilia drily.

"But you will do your best?" persisted the baronet.

"I will do nothing without being previously made aware of the real nature of your difficulties."

"I will then keep you in the dark no longer. The cause of my embarrassment is a bill of exchange, for a thousand pounds, now lying in Greenwood's hands, and due to-morrow."

"That is but a simple debt; and, methinks, Sir Rupert, that your acquaintance with bills is not so slight as to render you an alarmist respecting the consequences."

"Were it only a simple matter of debt, I should care but little," said Sir Rupert, still compelled to support the biting raillery of his wife: "but unfortunately—in an evil hour—I know not what demon prompted me at the moment——"

"Speak, Sir Rupert—tell me the truth at once," cried Lady Cecilia, now really alarmed.

"I say that in an evil hour—in a moment of desperation—in an excess of frenzy—I committed a forgery!"

"A forgery!" repeated Lady Cecilia, turning deadly pale. "Ah! what a disgrace to the family—what shame for me——"

"I told you that my ruin would redound upon yourself, Cecilia. But there is more yet for you to hear. The acceptance that I forged——"

"Well?"

"Was that of Lord Tremordyn——"

"My father!"

"And now you know all. Can you assist me?"

"Sir Rupert, I have no means of raising one tenth part of the sum that you need to cover this infamous transaction."

"And yet you seemed to say that if I told you the nature of my difficulties——"

"I was curious to learn your secret; and as you appeared resolved to keep it from me, I thought I would see if there were no means of wheedling it out of you."

"And you therefore have no hope to give me?" said the baronet, in a tone of despair.

"None. Where could I raise one thousand pounds? how am I to obtain such a sum? It is for you either to pacify Mr. Greenwood, or to throw yourself at my father's feet and confess all."

"Mr. Greenwood is resolute; and you know that your father would spurn me from his presence. So far from me being able to help myself, it is for you to help me. Perhaps Mr. Greenwood would listen to your representations; or else Lord Tremordyn would accord to you what he would never concede to me."

"You cannot suppose that I can have any influence upon Mr. Greenwood," began Lady Cecilia: "and as for—"

"On the contrary," said Sir Rupert, fixing his eyes in a significant manner upon his wife's countenance; "I have every reason to believe that your influence over Mr. Greenwood is very great; and I will now thank you to exercise it in my behalf."

"What do you mean, Sir Rupert?" exclaimed Cecilia, a deep blush suffusing her face, and her eyes sinking beneath her husband's expressive look.

"Do not force me to explanations, Cecilia," returned the baronet. "I know more than you imagine—I have proofs of more than you fancy I could even suspect. But of that no matter: relieve me from this embarrassment—and I will never trouble you about your pursuits."

"What would you have me do?" asked the guilty wife, in a trembling voice.

"Go to Greenwood and settle this business for me," said the baronet, in an authoritative tone.

"I cannot—I dare not—I have no right to demand such a favour of him—I should be certain to experience a refusal—I—"

"Lady Cecilia," interrupted the baronet, speaking in a slow and emphatic manner, "Mr. Greenwood is too gallant a man to refuse a mere trifle to a lady who has refused nothing to him."

"Sir Rupert—you cannot suppose—you—"

"I mean what I say, madam," added the baronet sternly. "Mr. Greenwood is your paramour, and you can surely use your influence with him to save your husband."

"My God! what do I hear?" ejaculated Cecilia. "What proof have you, Sir Rupert—what testimony—what ground—"

"Every proof—every testimony—every ground," interrupted the baronet impatiently. "But, again I say, I do not wish to ruin your reputation, if you will save mine."

"Impossible!" cried Lady Cecilia. "I do not deny that Mr. Greenwood has accommodated me with an occasional loan—upon interest—"

"Interest indeed!" said the baronet, whose turn to assume a tone of raillery had now arrived: "interest paid from the bank of my honour!"

"Upon legal and commercial terms has he lent me money," continued Lady Cecilia; "and this very evening has he refused to advance me another shilling!"

"Is that true, Cecilia?" demanded Sir Rupert.

"Nay—satisfy yourself," said the lady; and drawing a note from her bosom, she handed it to her husband.

The correspondence that passed between Mr. Greenwood and Lady Cecilia was always of a laconic and most guarded nature: there was consequently nothing in the letter now communicated to Sir Rupert Harborough, to confirm his belief in his wife's criminality. Indeed, the epistle was neither more nor less than any gentleman might write upon a matter of business to any lady.

"Oh! that villain Chichester!" murmured Lady Cecilia.

"That ever since that day," continued the baronet, "Chichester and myself have watched your proceedings—have seen you, Cecilia, repair to the appointments agreed upon with your paramour—"

"But this is atrocious!" ejaculated the lady, now dreadfully excited.

"Nay—do not interrupt me," said Sir Rupert in an imperative manner. "You must tell Mr. Greenwood that I and my witness have followed you both to an hotel at Greenwich—that we have been in the next room and have overheard your conversation—that we have been aware of the moments of your amorous dalliance—"

"Ah! Sir Rupert—do you want to kill me" cried Cecilia, bursting into an agony of tears.

"Nonsense!" ejaculated the baronet: "I only want you to save me, and I will screen you. Go, then, to Greenwood—tell him all this—assure him that I know all—that for months have I been watching you—and that I should obtain from him damages far more important than the amount of this acceptance, but that I am willing to compromise the business by the destruction of that document."

"And why could you not have acquainted Mr. Greenwood with all this when you last saw him?" demanded Lady Cecilia, drying her tears, and endeavouring to compose herself, now that the worst was known.

"I did not intend to mention my knowledge of your criminality at all," said Sir Rupert; "and had you consented in the first instance to use your influence with Greenwood to obtain the money to settle the bill, you would not have forced me to these revelations."

"Say rather, Sir Rupert Harborough," exclaimed the lady, "that you would have me obtain for you the means to pay this forged bill; and when once you were freed from the power of Greenwood, you would have brought your action against him, and exposed your wife. But as you have failed in making me—the wife whom you would thus expose—the instrument of procuring that sum,—and as the danger now stares you in the face, you proclaim your knowledge of our connexion, and use it as a means to compromise the forgery."

"Cecilia, you do not think me capable——"

"I think you capable of any thing," interrupted his wife indignantly; and it was singular to see that adulterous woman—that criminal wife—that profligate female now putting her husband to the blush, by exposing his base designs.

"Well—after all," exclaimed Sir Rupert, "recriminations will do no good. Go to Greenwood—settle the affair—and the past shall be buried in oblivion."

"And what guarantee do you offer to ensure eternal secresy on your part, provided Mr. Greenwood will give up this forged bill?"

"I will sign any paper he may require," replied the baronet. "But time presses—it is now nearly ten o'clock—and to-morrow morning——"

"I will go to Mr. Greenwood," said Lady Cecilia, rising from her seat: "I will go to him—and endeavour to compromise this affair to the best of my power."

Sir Rupert rang the bell and ordered wine to be brought up, while Lady Cecilia hastened to her boudoir to attire herself for going out; and in the mean time a servant was despatched to procure a cab.

The vehicle arrived and Lady Cecilia was already upon the threshold of the front door of the house, when a servant in a handsome livery ascended the steps, presented a letter, and said "For Sir Rupert Harborough."

Lady Cecilia received the letter; and the servant who delivered it, immediately took his departure.

The lady was about to send in the letter by her own domestic to her husband, when the superscription on the envelope caught her eyes by the light of the hall-lamp. The writing was in the delicate hand of a female; and, without a moment's hesitation, Cecilia consigned the epistle to her reticule.

She then stepped into the vehicle, and ordered the driver to take her to Spring Gardens.

There were two bright lamps fixed in front of the cab; and by these means was Lady Cecilia enabled to examine the contents of the letter intended for her husband.

Without the least hesitation she opened the letter, and to her ineffable surprise discovered that it contained a Bank of England note for one thousand pounds.

This treasure was accompanied by a letter, the contents of which were as follows:—

No name—no date—no address were appended to this mysterious note. The writing was in a delicate female hand;—and a servant in a handsome livery had delivered the letter. These circumstances, combined with the handsome manner in which the money was tendered, refuted the suspicion that some female, with whom Sir Rupert was illicitly connected, had thus befriended him.

Lady Cecilia was bewildered: the pain of conjecture and doubt was however absorbed in the pleasurable feelings excited by the possession of so large a sum of money.

The cab now stopped at Mr. Greenwood's residence.

"You have doubtless called, my dear Cecilia," said Mr. Greenwood, as he handed the fair visitant to a seat in his elegant drawing-room,—"you have doubtless called to remonstrate with me respecting my note of this evening."

"No," answered Cecilia coldly: "I come on a more momentous affair than that: Sir Rupert knows all!"

"Ah!" cried Greenwood; "is it possible that the villain Chichester—"

"Has betrayed us," added the lady. "Moreover, Sir Rupert and his inseparable friend have been watching and dogging all our movements for months past."

"This is awkward—very awkward," observed Greenwood. "However, Sir Rupert will not dare show his teeth against me, nor venture to give publicity to the affair."

"Because you hold his bill, with a forged acceptance, for one thousand pounds," said Lady Cecilia.

"Ah! he has told you that much—has he?" exclaimed Greenwood. "Well—you perceive, my dearest Cecilia, that he is completely in my power."

"Indeed!" cried Greenwood. "He could not have chosen a more charming plenipotentiary."

"His proposal is this:—you are to give up the acceptance, and he will sign any paper you choose to guarantee you against legal proceedings on his part."

"I do not see, fair ambassadress," said Greenwood, who did not treat the business with so much serious attention as Lady Cecilia had anticipated—"I do not see that I should benefit myself by such an arrangement. So long as the bill remains in my possession, it is impossible for Sir Rupert Harborough to commence civil proceedings against me, because he knows full well that were he to have process issued against me, I should that moment hand him over to the officers of justice."

"Then, for my sake, Mr. Greenwood," said Lady Cecilia, cruelly hurt by this cold calculation on the part of a man the slave of whose passions she had so completely been,—"for my sake, compromise this affair amicably."

"A thousand pounds is a large sum to fling into the street, my dear Cecilia," observed Greenwood.

"And suppose that by some accident my husband should raise that amount and pay the bill—"

"It never was my intention to allow him to pay all," interrupted Greenwood. "I imagined that by threatening him, I should obtain five or six hundred on account, and I should still hold the bill for the balance. That balance I would not receive, were he to offer it, because by retaining the bill, I keep him in my power."

"Then, once again, for my sake—for my sake," repeated Lady Cecilia, "consent to the proposal made to you this evening—settle the affair in an amicable manner."

"To oblige you, my dear Cecilia, I will assent to Sir Rupert Harborough's proposal. Let him draw up and sign a document in which he acknowledges that he has discovered the—the—"

"Criminal conversation between his wife and Mr. George Greenwood," said Cecilia: "we will not mince words in a negotiation of this kind," she added ironically.

"Precisely," exclaimed Greenwood, coolly; "and that he has received full satisfaction for the same. In this manner the business can be disposed of to the satisfaction of all parties."

"To-morrow morning at eleven o'clock I will call with that paper," said Lady Cecilia.

"And I will give you up the forged bill," returned the Member of Parliament. "And now, my dear Cecilia, allow me to make an observation relative to the answer I sent you this evening to your little note. The truth is, that representing as I do an enlightened and independent constituency—"

"Pardon me," said Lady Cecilia, rising: "we will not talk of any other business until this most painful affair be settled."

The fair patrician lady then took her leave, and returned to her husband, who awaited Greenwood's decision in a state of the most painful suspense.

Cecilia communicated to him the particulars of the interview; and, ere he retired to rest, the baronet drew up the document which was to save himself by the compromise of his honour.

"So far, so good," said Sir Rupert, as he handed the paper to his wife. "I have now a proposal to make to you, Cecilia—and I have little doubt that you will accept it."

"Proceed," said Cecilia.

"After the explanation which has taken place between us this evening, it is impossible that we can ever entertain much respect for each other again. You know me to be a forger—I know you to be unfaithful to my bed. If it suits you, we will agree to live together beneath the same roof as hitherto—to have our separate apartments—to maintain an appearance of enjoying domestic tranquillity—and each to follow his own pursuits without leave or remonstrance on the part of the other. You will never interfere with me—I will never interfere with you. If you hear that I have a mistress, you will take no notice of it: if I know that you have a lover, I shall be equally blind and dumb. Does this please you?"

"Perfectly," answered Lady Cecilia. "Shall we commit this compact to writing?"

"Oh! with much pleasure," returned Sir Rupert. "I will draw up two agreements, embodying the conditions of our compact, immediately. You can retain one; and I will keep the other."

The baronet set to work, and, in a most business-like manner, wrote out the compact. He then read it to Lady Cecilia, who signified her approval of its terms. A counterpart was written; and the husband and wife signed the papers that released them from all the moral obligations of their marriage-vows!

They then retired to their separate apartments, better pleased with each other, perhaps, than they had been for a long—long time.

The reader need scarcely be informed that Lady Cecilia said nothing to her husband relative to the mysterious letter containing the Bank note for a thousand pounds.

On the following morning Lady Cecilia repaired to the abode of Mr. Greenwood. When she arrived in Spring Gardens, she found the street completely blocked up with a train of charity children—boys and girls, marshalled by the parish beadle, and accompanied by the schoolmaster and schoolmistress. The girls were attired in their light blue dresses, plain straw bonnets, white collars, and pepper-and-salt coloured cloaks; and their arms, red with the cold, were only half covered with their coarse mittens. The boys wore their muffin caps, short coats, and knee-breeches; and each was embellished with a large tin plate, or species of medal, affixed like a badge of honour, to the breast. Their meagre countenances, their thin arms, and lanky legs, did not speak much in favour of the quantity of food which constituted their diurnal meals.

Lady Cecilia was conducted to the drawing-room by the Italian valet, who informed her that Mr. Greenwood would wait upon her the moment he had dismissed the charity children.

Lafleur, in the mean time threw open the door of the mansion, and admitted the procession into the spacious hall, after having kept the poor creatures shivering in the cold for nearly a quarter of an hour. The beadle took his station upon the steps, with awful dignity, and watched the boys and girls as they defiled past him in military order into the hall. It was very evident from the timid glances which the little scholars cast towards the countenance of this functionary, that they believed him to be one of the most important personages on the face of the earth; and perhaps they were even perplexed to decide, in their own minds, whether the parish beadle whom they saw before them, or Mr. Greenwood, M. P., whom they were about to see, was the greater man of the two.

In a few moments a side door opened, and Mr. Greenwood appeared.

The beadle struck his stick upon the hall floor once more; and the children, duly tutored to obey the signal, saluted the great man, the girls with low curtseys, and the boys by doffing their muffin caps, bobbing their heads forward, and kicking back their left legs.

"Well, Mr. Muffles," said the Member of Parliament to the beadle, with one of his usual affable smiles; "brought your little family—eh?"

"These children, sir," responded Muffles in a self-sufficient and important tone, glancing at the same time in a patronising manner upon the groups of juveniles around—"these children, sir, has come, as in dooty bounden, to hoffer up the hincense of their most gratefullest thanks to you, sir, as their kind paytron which supplied 'em with pea-soup, blankets, and religious tracts, to keep their bodies and souls both warm and comfortable, as one may say."

"I am delighted, Mr. Muffles," replied the Member of Parliament, in a most condescending manner, "to receive this little mark of gratitude on the part of those for whom I entertain a deep interest, and I am the more pleased because this visit on their part was quite spontaneous, and on mine totally unlooked for."

Mr. Greenwood did not think it necessary to state his knowledge that the whole affair had been got up by Lafleur, in obedience to his own commands.

"Representing as I do," continued Mr. Greenwood, "an enlightened, independent, and important constituency, I cannot do otherwise than feel interested in the welfare of the rising generation; and when I glance upon the happy countenances of these dear children, I thank God for having given me the means to contribute my mite towards the maintenance of the schools of the parish wherein I have the honour to reside."

Mr. Muffles' stick was here rapped upon the floor with tremendous violence; and the boys and girls immediately burst forth into shrill cries of "Hear! hear!"

When silence was once more restored, the beadle in due form presented the schoolmaster and schoolmistress to Mr. Greenwood.

"This gen'leman, sir," said the parish functionary, "is Mr. Twiggs, the parochial perceptor—as worthy a man, sir, as ever broke bread. He's bin in his present sitivation thirteen year come Janivary—"

"Febivary, Mr. Muffles," said the schoolmaster, mildly correcting the beadle.

"Oh! Febivary, be it, Mr. Twiggs?" exclaimed the parish authority. "And this, sir, is Mrs. Twiggs, a lady well known for her excellent qualities in teaching them blessed young gals, and taking care o' their linen."

"Delighted to see your scholars looking so well, Mr. Twiggs," said Greenwood, bowing to the master: "quite charmed, Mrs. Twiggs, to behold the healthy and neat appearance of your girls," he added, bowing to the mistress.

"Would you be kind enough, sir," said Mr. Twiggs, in a meek and fawning tone, "to question any of them lads on any pint of edication?"

"Perhaps I might as well, Mr. Twiggs," returned Greenwood; "in case I should ever have to allude to the subject in the House of Commons."

The mere idea of any mention of the parochial school being made in Parliament, produced such an impression upon the beadle that he banged his staff most earnestly on the hall floor; and the children, taking it for a signal which they had been previously tutored to observe, again yelled forth "Hear! Hear!"

"Silence!" thundered Mr. Muffles; and the vociferations instantly ceased.

"Now, my boy," said Mr. Greenwood, addressing the one who stood nearest to him, "I will ask you a question or two. What is your name?"

"Jem Blister, sir," was the prompt reply.

"James Blister—eh? Well—who gave you that name?"

"Father and mother, please, sir."

"Blister, for shame!" ejaculated Mr. Muffles, with a terrific frown: then, by way of prompting the lad, he said, "My Godfathers and—"

"My Godfathers and Godmother in my baptism," hastily cried the boy, catching at the hint; and after a pause, he added, "I mean an outward and visible sign of an inward—"

"Blister, I am raly ashamed of you!" again exclaimed Mr. Twiggs. "Stand back, sir; and let the boy behind you stand for'ard."

Another urchin stepped forth from the rank, and stood, blushing up to his very hair, and fumbling about with his cap, in the presence of Mr. Greenwood.

"My good boy," said the Member of Parliament, condescendingly patting him upon the head, "what is your name?"

"M. or N. as the case may be, please, sir," replied the boy.

"I should observe, sir," said the schoolmaster, "that this lad only began his Catechism yesterday."

"Oh very well, Mr. Twiggs," exclaimed Greenwood: "that accounts for his answer! I will ask him something else, then. My good lad, who was Adam?"

"The fust man, sir."

"Very good, my boy. And who was Eve?"

"The fust 'ooman, sir."

"Very good indeed," repeated Mr. Greenwood. "Now tell me what is the capital of England?"

"This boy is not in geography, sir," said Mr. Twiggs. "He's jest begun cyphering."

"Oh very good. Can you say your multiplication table, my boy?"

"Twice one's two; twice two's three; twice three's eight; twice four's ten; twice five's fourteen—"

The boy was rattling on at a furious pace, when the ominous voice of Mr. Twiggs ejaculated, "Garlick, I am ashamed of you!"

And Master Garlick began to cry most piteously.

"Come, it is not so bad, though," said Mr. Greenwood, by way of soothing the discomfited schoolmaster and restoring the abashed beadle to confidence; "he evidently knows his Bible very well—and that is the essential."

The Member of Parliament then delivered himself of a long harangue in favour of a sound religious education and in praise of virtue; and thus ended the solemn farce.

The great man bowed and withdrew: the beadle rapped his staff upon the floor; Lafleur opened the door; and the procession filed slowly out of the mansion.

"My dear Cecilia," he exclaimed, as he entered the room, "a thousand pardons for keeping you; but the fact is that the position in which an intelligent and independent constituency has placed me, entails upon me duties—"

"A truce to that absurdity with me," interrupted the baronet's wife, in a more peremptory tone than Mr. Greenwood had ever yet heard her use. "I am come according to appointment to settle a most unpleasant business. Here is my husband's acknowledgment, drawn up as you desired: please to deliver up to me the bill."

Mr. Greenwood ran his eye over the document, and appeared satisfied. He then drew forth the bill from his pocket-book, and handed it to Lady Cecilia.

There was a flush upon the lady's delicately pale countenance; and her eyes sparkled with unusual vivacity. She was dressed in a very neat, but plain and simple manner; and Mr. Greenwood fancied that she had never seemed so interesting before.

As he delivered the bill into her keeping, he took her hand and endeavoured to convey it to his lips.

She drew back with an air of offended dignity, which would have well become a lady that had never surrendered herself to the pleasures of an illicit love.

"No, Mr. Greenwood," she said, in a firm, and even haughty tone: "all that is ended between you and me. You are a heartless man, who cannot appreciate the warmth with which a confiding woman yields herself up to you;—you have treated me—the daughter of a peer—like a pensioned mistress. But let that now pass:—I have made you acquainted with the nature of my thoughts—and I am satisfied."

"I am at a loss to understand how I should have deserved these harsh words, Cecilia," replied Greenwood, with a somewhat supercilious smile; "but perhaps my inability to supply you with the means of gratifying your extravagances has given you offence."

"Your cool indifference of late has indeed given me a bitter lesson," said Lady Cecilia.

"And yet I manifested every disposition to serve you, madam," rejoined Greenwood haughtily, "when I consented to compromise your husband's felony."

"Yes—you generously abandoned your claim to a thousand pounds," exclaimed Cecilia, with cutting irony, "in order to hush up an intrigue with the wife of the man whom you had inveigled into your net. But think not, Mr. Greenwood, that I attempt to justify my husband's conduct: I know him to be a heartless—a bad—an unprincipled man;—and yet, Mr. Greenwood, I do not conceive that you would shine the more resplendently by being placed in contrast with him. One word more. Had you refused to deliver up that bill, I was prepared to pay it. Some unknown friend had heard of this transaction—heaven alone knows how; and that friend forwarded last evening the means wherewith to liquidate this debt. Here is the letter which contained a Bank-note for a thousand pounds: it fell into my hands, and my husband knows naught concerning it;—can you say whose writing that is?"

Greenwood glanced hastily at the letter, and exclaimed, "Yes—I know that writing well: Mrs. Arlington is your husband's generous friend!"

"Mrs. Arlington!" exclaimed Cecilia: "Oh!—now I recollect that rumour points to that woman as having once been my husband's mistress."

"The same," said Greenwood, struck by this noble act on the part of the fair one whom he himself had first seduced from the paths of virtue.

"It would now be difficult to decide," observed Cecilia, in a tone of profound contempt, "which has acted the more noble part—the late mistress of Sir Rupert Harborough, or the late lover of his wife."

Greenwood only answered with a satirical curl of the lip.

Lady Cecilia rose from her seat, bowed coldly to the capitalist, and withdrew.

Thus terminated the amours of the man of the world and the lady of fashion—ending, as such illicit loves usually do, in a quarrel.

But the reader must not suppose that the same sentiments of pride which had thus induced Lady Cecilia to break off abruptly a connexion which her paramour had been for some time dissolving by degrees, influenced her in the use to which she appropriated the handsome sum supplied for an especial purpose by Mrs. Arlington. The lady knew no compunction in this respect, and she therefore devoted the thousand pounds so generously forwarded by her husband's late mistress, to her own wants!

*   *  *  *  *

The Italian valet had overheard the entire conversation between Lady Cecilia Harborough and Mr. Greenwood, which we have just described.

In the course of the day the whole details of that interview were communicated to Mrs. Arlington, who thus learnt that Lady Cecilia had intercepted the money intended for Sir Rupert Harborough, and had settled the forged bill without being compelled to disburse it.

IT was the 1st of January, 1840.

The tide of Time rolls on with the same unvarying steadiness of motion, wearing off the asperities of barbarism, as the great flood of ocean smooths the sharp edges of rugged rocks.

But as the seasons glide away, vainly may we endeavour to throw a veil upon the past;—vainly do we lament, when Winter comes, that our Spring-dreams should be faded and gone, too beautiful to endure;—vainly, vainly do we pray that the waves of a Lethean sea may overwhelm the memories of those years when Time cast flowers from his brow, and diamonds from his wing!

Time looks down upon the world from the heights of the Pyramids of Egypt; and, as he surveys the myriad cities of the universe swarming with life,—marks the mighty armies of all states, ready to exterminate and kill,—views the navies of great powers riding over every sea,—as he beholds all these. Time chuckles, for he knows that they are his own!

For the day must come when the Pyramids themselves, the all but immortal children of antiquity, shall totter and fall; and Time shall triumph over even these.

The strongest edifices crumble into dust, and the power of the mightiest nations fritters into shreds, beneath the hand of Time.