This injunction was the means of soon bringing them into Grosvenor-square; and poor Emmeline’s agitation became almost unbearable. What was she going to learn? what was going to be her fate? for on the next hour she felt that it depended. They drove up to the door of her husband’s house—of her own home—and yet she shrunk back, in dread and dismay. A hasty glance showed her, that all the shutters were closed—and a cold, deadly sickness came over her. The servant knocked—but no one answered—he knocked again, and rung; and at length the porter appeared, and a parley ensued between him and Mr. Benson’s servant. Emmeline could endure the suspense no longer; and, with the paleness of death on her face, grasping her father’s arm—“In pity!” she cried, “speak to the man yourself.” Mr. Benson beckoned him to the carriage window. “I want to see Lord Fitzhenry,” said he. “Is he at home?” “No, sir; neither my lord nor my lady are at home”—for Emmeline had so shrunk to the back of the carriage, that the man did not see her. “Is Lord Fitzhenry quite well?” rejoined Mr. Benson, not knowing very well how to get at the information he wanted. “Yes, sir! I believe so,” said the porter, apparently surprised at the question. “His lordship went away yesterday afternoon; he did not leave his room till late, but I did not hear that he was any ways ill; I thought my lady had gone to Charlton.” “Do you know where he is gone to?” continued Mr. Benson. “No, I really can’t say; his lordship ordered post horses in a great hurry, and the carriage was to take him up at some place in town, but I really can’t tell where; but I will enquire in the house if any one knows.” “Did he leave word when he was to return?” “No, my lord said nothing, and we do not expect him back for some days, as he gave no orders.” A new and appalling idea now flashed across Emmeline’s mind—could Fitzhenry and Lady Florence have fled together! and, not content with the entire possession of each other’s affections, could they have determined by that open act, at once to rid themselves of the thraldom of their respective marriages! There was nothing of which she could not suspect Lady Florence; but her heart smote her for thus, even for an instant, accusing Fitzhenry; and, shocked at her own surmises, she hastily enquired whether Lord Fitzhenry had left no letter, no message for her. “Not that I knows of, my lady,” said the porter, bowing to Emmeline, and evidently astonished at her question, as well as at her appearance, as she had hitherto remained concealed behind Mr. Benson; “but I will go and enquire.” “This is all very strange,” muttered Mr. Benson to himself, while he was gone; “I can’t make it out for the life of me.” As for poor Emmeline, she was totally unable to express, or even to form an opinion; so many fearful apprehensions succeeded each other in her mind. After an interval of time, which appeared to her endless, the man returned with a note in his hand.