"You will never be able to go there again," observed Timothy, "and depend upon it, she will be your enemy through life. I wish you had not said anything to her." "What is done cannot be undone; but recollect, that if she can talk, I can talk also." "Will she not be afraid?" "Yes, openly, she will; and open attacks can be parried." "Very true." "But it will be as well to pacify her, if I can. I will write to her." I sat down and wrote as follows:-- "My dear Lady Maelstrom,--I am so astonished and alarmed at the situation I put you in, by my impertinence and folly, that I hardly know how to apologise. The fact is, that looking over some of my father's old letters, I found many from Warrender, in which he spoke of an affair with a young lady, and I read the name as your maiden name, and also discovered where the offspring was to be found. On re-examination, for your innocence was too evident at our meeting to admit of a doubt, I find that the name, although something like yours, is _spelt very differently_, and that I must have been led into an unpardonable error. What can I say except that I throw myself on your mercy? I dare not appear before you again. I leave town to-morrow; but if you can pardon my folly and impertinence, and allow me to pay my respects when London is full again, and time shall have softened down your just anger, write me one line to that effect, and you will relieve the burdened conscience of-- "Yours most truly,-- "J. Newland." "There, Tim," said I, as I finished reading it over, "take that as a sop to the old Cerberus. She may think it prudent, as I have talked of letters, to believe me and make friends. I will not trust her, nevertheless." Tim went away, and very soon returned with an answer. "You are a foolish mad-cap, and I ought to shut my doors against you; you have half killed me--spoilt my gown, and I am obliged to keep my bed. Remember, in future, to be sure of the right name before you make an assertion. As for forgiving you, I shall think of it, and when you return to town, you may call and receive my sentence. Cecilia was quite frightened, poor dear girl: what a dear affectionate child she is!--she is a treasure to me, and I don't think I ever could part with her. She sends her regards. "Yours,-- "C. Maelstrom." "Come, Timothy, at all events this is better than I expected--but now I'll tell you what I propose to do. Harcourt was with me yesterday, and he wishes me to go down with him to --. There will be the assizes, and the county ball, and a great deal of gaiety, and I have an idea that it is just as well to beat the county as the town. I dine with Mr Masterton on Friday. On Saturday I will go down and see Fleta, and on Tuesday or Wednesday I will start with Harcourt to his father's, where he has promised me a hearty welcome. Was there anything at Coleman Street?"