lauded Horace D’Almayne for the sunshine he had caused to fall upon the “frost of her despair,” that this excellent young man really began to believe himself to have been actuated by pure philanthropy, and wished he had not, from disuse, entirely lost the power of blushing. So _he_ talked, and _she_ talked, and _they_ talked, and were all very much pleased with themselves and with each other; and Kate Crane turned to depart, with her purse and her heart equally lightened by this most satisfactory visit. D’Almayne, enraptured alike with the success of his scheme, and with himself for having so cleverly devised and executed the same, led Kate to her brougham with nearly as conspicuous a display of gallantry to the lady, and admiration of himself, as that which distinguished Lord Bateman’s proud young porter on the memorable occasion of his playing gentleman usher to the fair Sophia. Having placed her in the brougham, handed her parasol (why do ladies take parasols about in carriages, where there is not the most remote chance of their being required?), and a shawl, and a carriage-bag full of elegant rubbish, and smirked to show his white teeth three times--once for each article--he received as a reward a kindly smile (for Kate really felt obliged to him for the opportunity of doing good which he had afforded her), which he received with a look of deferential ecstacy, and the brougham, with its fair occupant, drove off. On a sordid pallet, in the garret of the house opposite to that in which Mrs. Leonard resided, lay a man who, having lived wickedly, was then dying miserably: stricken with remorseful terror at the near approach of death--inevitable, fearful, retributive death--gate to the stern, inexorable Future, when he would be weighed in the balance and found wanting--he had wished, poor wretch! to undo some of the evil he had committed, and so sent to a rising young barrister, then getting up evidence in a disputed peerage case, to confess to him the forgery of a name in a parish-register and other iniquities, the knowledge of which would materially strengthen the cause of the young lawyer’s client. The interview, a most painful one to any man of feeling, was concluded; and, having taken copious notes of the dying forger’s confession in the presence of a competent witness, soothed the miserable being with such comfort as human sympathy could suggest, and promised to send the clergyman who his patient and gentle persuasion had induced him to receive, the young barrister left the house at the moment D’Almayne handed Kate Crane to the brougham. Why does the stranger turn first red then pale? why does he clench his fist till the nails dig deep into the flesh? why does he make a hasty stride forward, then, with an exclamation, half curse half sob, as hastily draw back, and screen himself in the shadow of the doorway until the carriage had driven off? He starts because he has seen the woman he once loved better than