As Lord Arandale’s carriage returned that evening from the cathedral to Hanover-square, it was overtaken by a chariot and four, driving at the utmost speed that could be attempted in the streets of London. Some communication passed between the servants, and both equipages drew up. It being lamp light only, and Lady Arandale’s shoulder and hat, while her Ladyship shook hands with, and spoke to some invisible inmate of the other carriage, effectually blocking up the window on that side, Julia could not see any thing; but she heard the voice of Arthur, crying, “Good bye! Good bye!” And that Of Lady Arandale saying, “But shall we not see you? Shall we not see you?” The carriage, then, must be our hero’s, and he must, by a look or shake of the head, have implied a negative; for Lady Arandale spoke again, saying, “Oh, I am sorry for that! Farewell, then! farewell! You’re a good lad: Heaven bless you! Good bye, Arthur, my dear,” she added, in a more careless tone. A hand, meanwhile, was stretched past Lady Arandale to offer the farewell grasp to those within the carriage. Julia gave hers when it came to her turn; and certainly, whether the invisible person was aware whose it was or not, it was held longer, and with a tenderer pressure than any other. The moment after it had been released, she at last heard the well-known voice of Edmund, though scarcely audible from suppressed emotion: it said only, “Go on.” And immediately the chariot drove away. There was surely nothing affecting or tender in those two little words; yet, they smote on the heart of Julia like an electric shock. They were, at once, the first she had heard from Edmund’s lips for many weeks, and the signal for his present departure, it might be for years, it might be for ever! The long-cherished feelings of tender affection for the dear speaker, vibrated to the tones of that loved voice; and long after they had passed away, did they seem to linger on the sense of hearing, like the faint notes of receding music: How often had those very tones been heard addressed to herself, and saying the kindest things! Her eyes overflowed with irrepressible tears. She could have envied, at the moment, the very postillions. Yet it could not have been because those words had been addressed to them; perhaps it was, because they were going with Edmund. He must, she knew, be hastening to join his ship. He was hastening, then, to danger, possibly to death—for when we have just witnessed any impressive instance of mortality, how fragile, how precarious, seems the hold on life, of those whose lives are precious to us! As Julia leaned back in the farther corner of the carriage, and, sheltered by the darkness, indulged in continued weeping, she thought of the devotion of Marmion’s page with an admiration and a sympathy she had never felt before: not that she meditated following that page’s example.