It was scarcely two when Minnie stopped at the door of Mary Burns's cottage; alighting, she rapped. The servant of whom Dalby made mention, opened the door. But, let us hasten to say, of all this he was ignorant; the game was too deep a one to be entrusted even to him. "Is Miss Burns at home?" asked Minnie. "No, ma'am; she has been out some time, but I expect her very shortly. Will you walk up-stairs, in the drawing-room?" Minnie obeyed, desiring the fly to wait. Before going to this apartment, however, she entered the parlour, and there found Mary's old mother sitting, childish and insensible as ever to all around. She spoke a few words to the deaf ear, and looked her sympathy in the unconscious face; then turning, followed the servant up-stairs. Here she paced the room impatiently some moments; then, sitting down, looked in the fire to seek some associations for her thoughts in the "faces in the fire." She was in deep meditation; she felt nervous, and full of thought. Thought! What are our thoughts? They are like dissolving views passing over the soul. One fades imperceptibly into another, brighter and totally different; then this one in its turn yields place to others, and so on, until at last the curtain falls over the last--and where are we? In an immensity of tangled imaginings, wide and spreading like eternity! A long time she sat thus, and then a rap at the street door startled her; a step was on the stairs, light and bounding; it was not calm as Mary's generally, nevertheless she rose to meet it; the door opened, and she found herself face to face with Lord Randolph! She could not speak, but shrunk silently back, gazing on him. "I shame to see it," he cried, advancing with extended hands, "that you, my dear Mrs. Tremenhere, have arrived first." There was nothing libertine in his manner, nothing more than usual--glad to see her, and most respectful. "You are annoyed," he continued, as she involuntarily drew back; "but pray, pardon me: I was unavoidably delayed, and prove your forgiveness by telling me how, in what manner, I can serve or oblige you?" "There is some strange mistake in this, some incomprehensible mystery, my lord," she whispered in terror, though scarcely knowing of what. "I never expected to see you here; why are you in this house?" "Merciful heavens!" he cried in amazement, "did you not write, requesting my presence here? Stay! I have the note about me: I came unhesitatingly, knowing well that you were in the habit of calling here occasionally." "I never wrote, Lord Randolph; there is some extraordinary meaning in this, coupled with the absence of her I came to see," and she seated herself tremblingly on the couch. "Here is the note," he cried, not less agitated; "is not this exactly your handwriting?" "Sufficiently like it to deceive an inexperienced eye; but I never wrote it, believe me."