"Fear not, my love: for your dear sake I will take every necessary precaution; and should I find the enemy, who has long, though most unjustly, threatened to revenge on me an act, horrible indeed, but of which I was not the author----should I find him still determined on vindictive measures, I will for a time pass over to the Continent, till some accommodation can be effected. At all events, my Ellen, remember you have promised to _believe me innocent_. In the course of the next summer, this enemy (who, alas! and that is not the least hardship in my wayward fate, ought by every tie to look upon me as a friend and father) will be in England, and I shall perhaps be able to clear his mind from those evil impressions with which an unfortunate chain of circumstances have stampt it----impressions received in early youth, and which he has ever since cherished, and brooded over with the most determined resentment." At this juncture, when St. Aubyn seemed for the first time inclined to open his whole heart to his wife, and to disclose to her a story in which she was so deeply interested, they were interrupted by a servant, who announced Mrs. Dawkins, and her tender friend Miss Alton, who came armed with a whole catalogue of sympathetic feelings and notes of admiration of all kinds to entertain Lady St. Aubyn. Many were the disasters which had happened since they saw her last: horses had been lame, servants impertinent, showers of rain had fallen at the most unlucky moments, even a dinner had been spoilt which had cost a whole week's preparation, by the cook's inattention in over-roasting the venison; in short, all the minor evils of life had set themselves in array against the peace of poor Mrs. Dawkins: and even the sympathizing Miss Alton could hardly keep pace with lamentations sufficient for such a doleful list of distresses. She fought her way, however, as well as she could, and where words failed her, shrugs, sighs, and the whole artillery of gesticulation, were employed in their stead. What then became of poor Ellen, who could at best only sit "with sad civility and an aching head," amid this alternate din of complaint and compassion? But Mrs. Dawkins was pre-determined to like and be pleased with every thing the lovely Countess did or omitted to do, and construed the silence and acquiescence with which she heard every thing into the kindest attention and most obliging concern for the troubles of her friends. The entrance of a sandwich tray fortunately gave some pause to this melancholy duet; and the excellent hot-house fruits, rich cake, &c. seemed to arrive in good time to refresh both ladies after so much exertion. At last they took their leave, but the moment for confidence was past; indeed, St. Aubyn, in no humour for trifling, had made his escape at one door, as they entered at the other: of course, the conversation was not then resumed.