CHAPTER XLV.

O, where have I been all this time? How friended,
That I should lose myself thus desp❜rately,

And none for pity show me how I wander'd!

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

WHILE it was yet too early for visiters, and before she had ordered herself to be denied to every one, as she intended to do, she was surprised by a double knock at the door, and she rang hastily to prevent any one being admitted. The servants, with contradictory orders, found it difficult to evade the earnest desire of the visiter to see their lady; and at last they brought up a card, on which was written, "Miss Derham wishes to be permitted to see Lady Lodore for Mrs. Villiers." From had first been written, erased, and for substituted. Lady Lodore was alarmed; and the ideas of danger and death instantly presenting themselves, she desired Miss Derham to be shown up. She met her with a face of anxiety, and with that frankness and kindness of manner which was the irresistible sceptre she wielded to subdue all hearts. Fanny had hitherto disliked Lady Lodore. She believed her to be cold, worldly, and selfish-now, in a moment, she was convinced, by the powerful influence of manner, that she was the contrary of all this; so that instead of the chilling address she meditated, she was impelled to throw off her reserve, and to tell her story with animation and detail. She spoke of what Mrs. Villiers had gone through previous to the arrest of her husband-and how constantly she had kept her resolve of remaining with him—though her situation day by day becoming more critical, demanded attentions and luxuries which she had no means of attaining. 66 Yet," said Fanny, should not have intruded on you even now, but that they cannot go on as they are; their resources are utterly exhausted,—and until next June I see no prospect for them."

Why does not Mr. Villiers apply to his father? even if letters were of no avail, a personal appeal▬▬

“I am afraid that Colonel Villiers has nothing to give," replied Fanny," and at all events, Mr. Villiers's imprisonment---"

"Prison!" cried Lady Lodore, "you do not mean-Ethel cannot be living in prison!"

“They live within the rules, if you understand that term. They rent a lodging close to the prison on the other side of the river.

"This must indeed be altered," said Lady Lodore, "this is far too shocking-poor Ethel, she must come here! Dear Miss Derham, will you tell her how much I desire to see her, and entreat her to make my house her home."

Fanny shook her head. "She will not leave her husband I should make your proposal in vain."

Lady Lodore looked incredulous. After a moment's thought she persuaded herself that Ethel's having refused to return to the house of Mrs. Derham, or having negatived some other proposed kindness, originated this notion, and she believed that she had only to make her invitation in the most gracious possible way, not to have it refused. "I will go to Ethel myself," she said; "I will myself bring her here, and so smooth all difficulties."

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Fanny did not object. Under her new favourable opinion of Lady Lodore, she felt that all would be well if the mother and daughter were brought together, though only for a few minutes. She wrote down Ethel's address, and took her leave, while at the same moment Lady Lodore ordered her carriage, and assured her that no time should be lost in removing Mrs. Villiers to a more suitable abode.

Lady Lodore's feelings on this occasion were not so smiling as her looks. She was grieved for her daughter, but she was exceedingly vexed for herself. She had desired some interest, some employment in life, but she recoiled from any that should link her with Ethel. She desired occupation, and not slavery; but to bring the young wife to her own house, and make it a home for her, was at once destructive of her own independence. She looked forward with repugnance to the familiarity that must thence ensue between her and Villiers. Even the first step was full of annoyance, and she was displeased that Fanny had given her the task of going to her daughter's habitation, and forced her to appear personally on so

degrading a scene; there was however no help-she had undertaken it, and it must be done.

Every advance she made towards the wretched part of the town where Ethel lived, added to her ill-humour. She felt almost personally affronted by the necessity she was under of first coming in contact with her daughter under such disastrous circumstances. Her spleen against Lord Lodore revived: she viewed every evil that had ever befallen her, as arising from his machinations. If Ethel had been intrusted to her guardianship, she certainly had never become the wife of Edward Villiers-nor ever have tasted the dregs of opprobrious poverty.

At length, her carriage drew near a row of low, shabby houses; and as the name caught her eye she found that she had reached her destination. She resolved not to see Villiers, if it could possibly be avoided; and then making up her mind to perform her part with grace, and every show of kindness, she made an effort to smooth her brow and recall her smiles. The carriage stopped at a door-a servant-maid answered to the knock. be asked for; he was not at home. ing was removed by this answer. and she alighted and desired to be

She ordered Mr. Villiers to One objection to her proceedMrs. Villiers was in the house, shown, to her.

CHAPTER XLVI.

As flowers beneath May's footsteps waken
As stars from night's loose hair are shaken;
As waves arise when loud winds call,

Thoughts sprung where'er that step did fall.

SHELLEY.

NEVER before had the elegant and fastidious Lady Lodore entered such an abode, or ascended such stairs. The servant had told her to enter the room at the head of the first flight, so she made her way by herself, and knocked at the door. The voice that told her to come in, thrilled through her, she knew not why, and she became disturbed at finding that her self-possession was failing her. Slight things act powerfully on the subtle mechanism of the human mind. She had dressed with scrupulous plainness, yet her silks and furs were strangely contrasted with the room she entered, and she felt ashamed of all the adjuncts of wealth and luxury that attended her. She opened the door with an effort: Ethel was seated near the fire at work-no place or circumstance could deteriorate from her appearance-in her simple, unadorned morning-dress, she looked as elegant and as distinguished as she had done when her mother had last seen her in diamonds and plumes in the presence of royalty. There was a charm about both, strikingly in contrast, and yet equal in fascination—the polish of Lady Lodore, and the simplicity of Ethel were both manifestations of inward grace and dignity; and as they now met, it would have been difficult to say which had the advantage of the other. Ethel's extreme youth, by adding to the interest with which she must be regarded, was in her favour. Yet full of sensibility and loveliness as was her face, she had never been, nor was she even now, as strikingly beautiful as her mother.

Lady Lodore could not restrain the tear that started into her eye

on beholding her daughter situated as she was. Ethel's feelings, on the contrary, were all gladness. She had no pride to allay her gratitude for her mother's kindness. "How very good of you to come!" she said, "how could you find out where we were? "How long have you been here?" asked Lady Lodore, looking round the wretched little room.

"Only a few weeks-I assure you it is not so bad as it seems. I should not much mind it, but that Edward feels it so deeply on my account."

"I do not wonder," said her mother, "he must be cut to the soul-but thank God it is over now. You shall come to me immediately, my house is quite large enough to accommodate you-I am come to fetch you."

"My own dearest mother!"—the words scarcely formed themselves on Ethel's lips; she half feared to offend the lovely woman before her by showing her a daughter's affection.

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Yes, call me mother," said Lady Lodore; "I may, at last, I hope, be allowed to prove myself one. Come then, dear Ethel, you will not refuse my request-you will come with me?"

"How gladly-but-will they let Edward go? I thought there was no hope of so much good fortune."

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"I fear indeed," replied her mother, "that Mr. Villiers must endure the annoyance of remaining here a little longer; but I hope his affairs will soon be arranged."

Ethel bent her large eyes inquiringly on her mother, as if not understanding; and then, as her meaning opened on her, a smile diffused itself over her countenance as she said, "Your intentions are the kindest in the world—I am grateful, how far more grateful than I can at all express, for your goodness. That you have had the kindness to come to this odious place is more than I could ever dare expect."

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It is not worth your thanks, although I think I deserve your acquiescence to my proposal. You will come home with me ?"

Ethel shook her head, smilingly. "All my wishes are accomplished," she said, "through this kind visit. I would not have you for the world come here again; but the wall between us is broken down, and we shall not become strangers again.

"My dearest Ethel," said Lady Lodore, seriously, "I see what you mean. I wish Mr. Villiers were here to advocate my cause.