Alas! day after day elapsed, and no letter came; but while Mrs Mowbray was almost frantic with disappointment and anxiety, Mrs Pemberton thought that she observed in Miss Woodville's countenance a look of triumphant malice, which ill accorded with the fluent expressions of sympathy and regret with which she gratified her unsuspicious relation, and she determined to watch her very narrowly; for she thought it strange that Adeline, however she might respect her mother's oath, should never, in the bitterness of her sorrows, have unburthened her heart by imparting them to her: one day, when, as usual, the post had been anxiously expected, and, as usual, had brought no letter from London concerning Adeline; and while Miss Woodville was talking on indifferent subjects with ill suppressed gaiety, though Mrs Mowbray, sunk into despondence, was lying on the sofa by her; Mrs Pemberton suddenly exclaimed--'There is only one right way of proceeding, friend Mowbray,--thou and I must go to London, and make our inquiries in person, and then we shall have a great chance of succeeding.' As she said this, she looked steadfastly at Miss Woodville, and saw her turn very pale, while her eye was hastily averted from the penetrating glance of Mrs Pemberton; and when she heard Mrs Mowbray, in a transport of joy, declare that they had better set off that very evening,--unable to conceal her terror and agitation, she hastily left the room. Mrs Pemberton instantly followed her into the apartment to which she had retired, and the door of which she had closed with much violence. She found her walking to and fro, and wringing her hands, as if in agony. On seeing Mrs Pemberton, she started, and sinking into a chair, she complained of being very ill, and desired to be left alone. 'Thou art ill, and thy illness is of the worst sort, I fear,' replied Mrs Pemberton; 'but I will stay, and be thy physician.' '_You_, my physician?' replied Miss Woodville, with fury in her looks; 'You?' 'Yes--_I_--I see that thou art afraid lest Adeline should be restored to her paternal roof.' 'Who told you so, officious, insolent woman?' returned Miss Woodville. 'Thy own looks--but all this is very natural in thee: thou fearest that Adeline's favour should annihilate thine.' 'Perhaps I do,' cried Miss Woodville, a little less alarmed, and catching at this plausible excuse for her uneasiness; 'for, should I be forced to leave my cousin's house, I shall be reduced to comparative poverty and solitude again.' 'But why shouldest thou be forced to leave it? Art thou not Adeline's friend?' 'Ye--yes,' faltered out Miss Woodville. 'But it is uncertain whether we can find Adeline--still we shall be very diligent in our inquiries; yet it is so strange that she should never have written to her mother, if alive, that perhaps--' 'Oh, I dare say she is dead,' hastily interrupted Miss Woodville. 'Has she been dead long, thinkest thou?' 'No--not long--not above six months, I dare say.'