"She will know where to find me, should she wish to see me, which I think is hardly probable;" and with a cold "good-night" I left him. I called upon Herbert on my way home, and told him all that had taken place. He was surprised and shocked. "Saville," said he, after a long pause, during which he had been absorbed in reflection, "this cursed affair is destroying you. I am a plain man. You may shake your head, and tell me coolly and calmly that you have ceased to feel the injury which all the while is preying upon you. It is that calmness which I fear most; it will kill you, or worse than that,--you understand me. You must pursue this matter no farther. The man is dead, and your wife---- Well," he resumed, "I beg your pardon; I was wrong to call her by that name. May I speak plainly?" "You may." "She is evidently in a state of want--of destitution. This must not be. You must allow her--settle upon her--enough to rescue her from poverty and its temptations. She must not starve;--I see you could not bear that. And you must forget her. It will not do to see a young man like yourself sacrificed, self-sacrificed, to the villany of a scoundrel. I will say no more, Saville. Vice has too much homage paid to her when an honourable man is made her victim." Herbert was right--he was always so. No, no;--she must not starve. That were indeed a miserable triumph to me. I went to my solicitor on the next morning, and a deed was made out, settling a competence upon her, and I sent with it as much money as she could require for immediate exigencies. And I was resolved that I would forget her. The worst was past, and time and occupation would do much, and I would think this misery down. But the worst was not yet past. I was informed, one morning, that a woman in the hall desired to speak with me. Concluding that she was one of the many persons who are accustomed to wait upon the wealthy with petitions, I ordered the servant to admit her. A woman meanly dressed, and whose countenance was concealed, moved towards me, and sinking upon her knees, with her palms pressed together and raised towards me, looked up into my face. Madness in me, and misery and famine in her, must have wrought more strongly, if that were possible, than they had done, could I have failed to recognise that face instantly. Her lips moved,--she would have spoken, but she had no power to speak,--and with a deep and heavy groan she fell upon the floor before me. I rang the bell violently. A servant entered the room. "Send Mrs. Martin to me instantly. Mrs. Martin," said I, as the woman hastened into the room, "let Dr. Herbert be sent for immediately. You must take care of her. See that she wants nothing." "Gracious God! it is my mistress!" said the woman, as she raised her head upon her knee. "You will let her remain in the house, Mr. Saville?--in one of the upper rooms?" "In her own room, Mrs. Martin.--I commit her to you. When she recovers, we can make other arrangements."