The scene, after all she had undergone of late, proved a gay and enchanting one--the rows of stately mansions; the quadruple lines of trees in full leaf; the deep blue of the Binner Alster, its bosom studded by pretty pleasure-boats, tiny steamers, and flocks of snow-white swans; and the German bands playing before the great hotels, which were all gaily decorated with the flags of various nations, as if for a holiday. But ere long there occurred that which to her was a crushing episode. While Frau Wyburg stopped the droski to listen to a band that was playing amid a group of people before the great Kron Prinzen Hotel, Ellinor perceived a handsome open carriage close by, and in it were seated an elderly gentleman and two ladies, who had their eyes fixed on her. The trio were Lord and Lady Dunkeld with their daughter, Blanche Galloway! Ellinor started from her seat, as they were quite within earshot, and in their power lay succour--help--rescue! 'Lady Dunkeld--Lady Dunkeld--Mrs. Deroubigne!' she exclaimed, wildly; 'you can doubtless give me her address? You know me--you know me--Ellinor Wellwood!' They all heard her; but Lord Dunkeld looked steadily askance, showing only the facial angle which he thought so like that of the Grande Monarque, while the two ladies gazed with wonder at first, and then with frigid hauteur; and Blanche, who, we have said, was strong in love, ambition, and hate, said something to the coachman, who drove away at once, while the usually imperturbable Gaiters, in some alarm, took the droski in an opposite direction, and Ellinor sank back despairing on her seat, as she was conveyed at a galloping pace back to the gloomy house overlooking the Bleichen Fleet. The deadly and sickening surmises of what these cold-hearted people thought, of what the world might say, think, or suspect, seemed now to take a tangible form, and the soul of the girl seemed to die within her. It was so fated, however, that the secret of her adventures was never to be made known to the world of Mrs. Grundy--by the lips of Sir Redmond Sleath, at least. While this daring and extraordinary conspiracy against the freedom and peace of Ellinor was in progress in that obscure and gloomy house, among the damp and miasmatic districts of the Fleethen, her sister Mary and Mrs. Deroubigne were still in the pretty villa at Altona. The former was now in deep mourning--so deep that it was almost the same as the weeds of a widow, for she felt herself a widow in heart, indeed; and by the double loss she had endured the girl thought that Fate was very cruel to her. She had received a pleasant, a delightfully-soothing letter from old Dr. Wodrow, condoling with her on the sad news from Cabul, all ignorant as he was yet of the escape of his son amid the new calamity in that fatal city--fatal to Britons, at least.