MY DARLING MABEL--I must write a few words, the last you will ever have from me, to tell you that whatever may appear, however any one may try to persuade you, I still love you; love you, as I have done all my life, with all the best part of my nature. Believe that, Mabel, my own, always. I write to say good-bye, for I shall never see you again; and yet I never longed to see you as I do at this moment. I feel half mad now, and hardly know what I am writing. How shall I say it; I have nothing to live for, except disgrace, and I will not live for that, I am resolved. Once more, good-bye, dearest and best. Try to forgive me, and then forget me, as every one else in the world will soon do. WILFRED MERTON. For an instant Mabel sat quite still, gazing straight before her with one expression, that of blank despair, upon her face. This sudden fearful shock had quite stunned her. But she was not a girl to remain inactive, simply grieving over misfortune, when there was anything to be done. Her resolution was promptly taken. She rang, and a servant appeared. 'Tell Hawkesley to bring the brougham round as soon as he possibly can,' she said; 'tell him not to mind how it looks, but to be at the door as soon as possible.' 'Is anything the matter, miss?' said the man, astonished at this order. 'Yes. I have no time to lose.' 'Is it master, miss?' he asked, with that dreadful habit of his class of questioning instead of doing what is wanted. 'No; papa is quite well. But don't stop now; go yourself to the stable; I haven't a minute to waste.' In a few minutes more she was seated in the brougham which was fast making its way to Mr Merton's bank in the City. CHAPTER IV.--THE JOURNEY. Mr Merton was sitting in the private office of his counting-house with a large book open before him. Just as he was in the middle of some calculation which, to judge from the expression of his face, was pretty abstruse, the door opened and a clerk entered. The banker looked up with no appearance of being pleased at the interruption. 'What is it, Mr Chester?' he said, rather angrily. 'There is a young lady, sir, who says she must see you as soon as possible, and alone.' 'O nonsense. I can't possibly attend to her. Don't you know who she is?' 'No, sir; she wouldn't give me her name, nor tell me her business. I said that I was sure you couldn't see her; but she said it was absolutely necessary that you should do so, and that you would know her directly.' 'You must tell her that it is out of the question for me to see her, if she will not send word who she is, or what she wants.' 'There's no good, sir; I have told her so. But she is quite determined to come; and I thought I had better speak to you, as it seemed so strange to have her waiting about there.' 'Well, in that case I suppose you must shew her in.'