On Monday, at eleven in the forenoon, on the 28th of November, Ethel, having put together but a few things,--for she expected a speedy return,--stept into her travelling chariot, and began her journey to town. She was all delight at the idea of seeing Edward. She reproached herself for having so long delayed giving this proof of her earnest affection. She listened with beaming smiles to all her aunt's injunctions and cautions: and, the carriage once in motion, drawing her shawl round her, as she sat in the corner, looking on the despoiled yet clear prospect, her mind was filled with the most agreeable reveries--her heart soothed by the dearest anticipations. To pay the post-horses--to gift the postillion herself, were all events for her: she felt proud. "Edward said, I must begin to learn the ways of the world; and this is my first lesson in economy and care," she thought, as she put into the post-boy's hand just double the sum he had ever received before. "And how good, and attentive, and willing every body is! I am sure women can very well travel alone. Every one is respectful, and desirous to serve," was her next internal remark, as she undrew her little silken purse, to give a waiter half-a-crown, who had brought her a glass of water, and whose extreme alacrity struck her as so very kind-hearted. Her spirits flagged as the day advanced. In spite of herself, an uneasy feeling diffused itself through her mind, when, the sun going down, a misty, chilly twilight crept over the landscape. Had she done right? she asked herself; would Edward indeed be glad to see her? She felt half frightened at her temerity--alarmed at the length of her journey--timid when she thought of the vast London she was about to enter, without any certain bourn. She supposed that Villiers went each day to his club, and she knew that he lodged in Duke street, St. James's; but she was ignorant of the number of the house, and the street itself was unknown to her; she did not remember ever to have been in it in her life. Her carriage entered labyrinthine London by Blackwall, and threaded the wilds of Lothbury. A dense and ever-thickening mist, palpable, yellow, and impervious to the eye, enveloped the whole town. Ethel had heard of a November fog; but she had never witnessed one, and the idea of it did not occur to her memory: she was half-frightened, thinking that some strange phænomena were going on, and fancying that her postillion was hurrying forward in terror. At last, in Cheapside, they stopped jammed up by carts and coaches; and then she contrived to make herself heard, asking what was the matter? The word "eclipse" hung upon her lips. "Only, ma'am, the street has got blocked up like in the fog: we shall get on presently."