“I can hear of no letter, my lady; but this note the housekeeper found in your ladyship’s room; perhaps it is what you mean.” Emmeline eagerly seized it; but what was her mortification on finding it was her own note to Fitzhenry, with the seal still unbroken. In the confusion of her mind, she could not recollect whether, on leaving home the preceding day, she had given any orders about it: if she had, she must conclude, that Fitzhenry, occupied by other objects, had neglected, perhaps scorned, to read it. But at all events, as that note was unread, he must have gone from home in the full conviction that she, on her part, had left it in open, declared war. Quite overcome by the combination of distressing circumstances in which she was placed, after tearing her ill-fated note in a thousand pieces, with a vehemence of impatience very foreign to her nature, Emmeline again sunk back in the carriage, to conceal her disordered state from the servants. There was a moment’s pause. At length Mr. Benson, enquiring where Mr. Pelham lived, desired the coachman to drive to his house. Emmeline drew down the blind, spoke not a word, but seemed to give herself up to her fate in despair. When they reached the end of the street to which they had been directed, Mr. Benson stopped the carriage, and saying he would return to her directly, got out. He was some time absent: when he returned, he evidently was endeavouring to maintain a composure which he did not feel. “Mr. Pelham has likewise left London,” said he. “He too went away yesterday evening with post horses——very strange; but, I suppose, some junket out of town,” added he, making an awkward attempt at cheerfulness. The step of the carriage was let down for him. “Hang me!” continued Mr. Benson, “if I know what to do next, or where to go to. To drive after them would really be a wild-goose chase; for the chances are a hundred to one against our taking the same road; for the plague is, that one don’t know at all where they are gone to. Mr. Pelham’s servants, too, can’t tell where their master went—a parcel of stupid, outlandish boobies, that can’t speak Christian-like language.” And apparently much distressed and perplexed, Mr. Benson, with one foot on the step of the carriage, looked anxiously up and down the street, as if in the hope of seeing some one, or something, that could suggest an idea to him.