As each day passed, so quickly merging into weeks, that five had now slipped away since that fatal letter had been sent to Edward, the difficulty to do as she had intended, entreat Mrs. Langford to dispose of her trinkets and watch, became to Ellen, either in reality or seeming, more and more difficult. Her illness had confined her to her room for nearly a week, and when she was allowed to take the air, the state of nervous debility to which it had reduced her, of course prevented her ever being left alone. The day after Mr. Hamilton's appeal to his domestics, she had made a desperate attempt, by asking permission to be the bearer of a message from her aunt to the widow; and as the girls were often allowed and encouraged to visit their nurse, the request was granted without any surprise, though to the very last moment she feared one of her cousins or Miss Harcourt would offer to accompany her. They were all, however, too occupied with and for Mr. Hamilton, and she sought the cottage, and there, with such very evident mental agony, besought Mrs. Langford to promise her secrecy and aid, that the widow, very much against her conscience, was won over to accede. She was in most pressing want of money, she urged, and dared not appeal to her aunt. Not daring to say the whole amount which she so urgently required at once, she had only brought with her the antique gold cross and two or three smaller ornaments, which had been among her mother's trinkets, and a gold locket Percy had given her. Mrs. Langford was painfully startled. She had no idea her promise comprised acquiescence and assistance in any matter so very wrong and mysterious as this; and she tried every argument, every persuasion, to prevail on Ellen to confide all her difficulties to Mrs. Hamilton, urging that if even she had done wrong, it could only call for temporary displeasure, whereas the mischief of her present proceeding might never come to an end, and must be discovered at last; but Ellen was inexorable, though evidently quite as miserable as she was firm, and Mrs. Langford had too high an idea of the solemn nature of a pledged word to draw back, or think of betraying her. She said that, of course, it might be some weeks before she could succeed in disposing of them all; as to offer them all together, or even at one place, would be exposing herself to the most unpleasant suspicions. One step was thus gained, but nearly a fortnight had passed, and she heard nothing from the widow. "Will they never come?" exclaimed Emmeline, in mirthful impatience, one evening, about four days after her conversation with her mother; "it _must be_ past the hour Percy named." "It still wants half an hour," replied Mrs. Hamilton; adding, "that unfortunate drawing, when will it succeed in obtaining your undivided attention?" "Certainly not this evening, mamma; the only drawing I feel inclined for, is a sketch of my two brothers, if they would only have the kindness to sit by me."