Pelham perplexed, and uncertain how to act, followed her with his eyes without moving from the spot she had quitted, while Fitzhenry, in great apparent perturbation, paced the room. At length, just as Emmeline had reached the door of her own apartment, seeing her trembling hands had some difficulty in opening it, Pelham hurried to her assistance. “You mean then,” said he in a low voice, as he turned the lock, “to go to Charlton to-morrow. You shall hear from me, probably see me, and I will bring you good news, perhaps even Fitzhenry;—cheer up, I entreat you, all will yet be well.” Emmeline forced a faint smile, and held out her hand to him; he seized it with affection. “God of heaven bless and support you,” he said, with earnestness, and hastily left her. When he returned to the outward drawing-room, Fitzhenry was gone; he hurried down stairs in hopes of finding him in his own room, but the servants informed him, he had again left the house. Emmeline ordered her carriage after church next morning, to take her to Charlton; but how great a change do a few hours often make in our views! She already repented having declared her intention of leaving town. Twice, as the hour named by her drew near, she delayed the carriage, wishing (much as she dreaded the interview) to see Fitzhenry before she went. It was now past three, but still he did not appear, and no message came from him. She rang the bell—“Is Lord Fitzhenry gone out?” She enquired, rather fearfully. “No, my lady,” answered the footman; “I believe my lord is not yet up; at least he has not rung his bell; but shall I enquire?” “Oh! no matter,” said Emmeline, with a faltering voice, and dismissing the man. Convinced by this, that it was her husband’s intention they should not meet, she determined to write to him; for to part thus, in what seemed a decided, open rupture, without some sort of reconciliation taking place, she now felt to be impossible: she therefore sat down, and took her pen, although not knowing what to say. She once thought she would beg for an interview—demand to be released from her promise of silence, in order to come to some explanation. But yet what had she to say? what had she to learn? Even if Mrs. Osterley’s strange and cruel hints had reached his ears,—if he could so mistake her and his friend, as to give any credit to them, could she flatter herself he was enough interested about her, to care whom she might prefer? On the other hand, to endeavour to exculpate herself from suspicions which he might never have entertained, seemed ridiculous. Besides, could she now, as a new thing, charge him with coldness, dislike, and infidelity—all which he had openly declared, and for all which he had prepared her months before. Discouraged by these considerations from adverting to what had passed the night before, she at length, after various doubts and indecisions, merely wrote these words:—