The iron passed through Mrs. Woffington's soul. So! this was a villain, too, the greatest villain of all--a hypocrite! She turned very faint, but she was under an enemy's eye, and under a rival's; the thought drove the blood back from her heart, and with a mighty effort she was Woffington again. Hitherto her liaison with Mr. Vane had called up the better part of her nature, and perhaps our reader has been taking her for a good woman; but now all her dregs were stirred to the surface. The mortified actress gulled by a novice, the wronged and insulted woman, had but two thoughts; to defeat her rival--to be revenged on her false lover. More than one sharp spasm passed over her features before she could master them, and then she became smiles above, wormwood and red-hot steel below--all in less than half a minute. As for the others, looks of keen intelligence passed between them, and they watched with burning interest for the _denouement._ That interest was stronger than their sense of the comicality of all this (for the humorous view of what passes before our eyes comes upon cool reflection, not often at the time). Sir Charles, indeed, who had foreseen some of this, wore a demure look, belied by his glittering eye. He offered Cibber snuff, and the two satirical animals grinned over the snuff-box, like a malicious old ape and a mischievous young monkey. The newcomer was charming; she was above the middle height, of a full, though graceful figure, her abundant, glossy, bright brown hair glittered here and there like gold in the light; she had a snowy brow, eyes of the profoundest blue, a cheek like a peach, and a face beaming candor and goodness; the character of her countenance resembled “the Queen of the May,” in Mr. Leslie's famous picture, more than any face of our day I can call to mind. “You are not angry with me for this silly trick?” said she, with some misgiving. “After all I am only two hours before my time; you know, dearest, I said four in my letter--did I not?” Vane stammered. What could he say? “And you have had three days to prepare you, for I wrote, like a good wife, to ask leave before starting; but he never so much as answered my letter, madam.” (This she addressed to Mrs. Woffington, who smiled by main force.) “Why,” stammered Vane, “could you doubt? I--I--” “No! Silence was consent, was it not? But I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you will forgive me. It is six months since I saw him--so you understand--I warrant me you did not look for me so soon, ladies?” “Some of us did not look for you at all, madam,” said Mrs. Woffington. “What, Ernest did not tell you he expected me?” “No! He told us this banquet was in honor of a lady's first visit to his house, but none of us imagined that lady to be his wife.” Vane began to writhe under that terrible tongue, whose point hitherto had ever been turned away from him.