This was Pomander's hour of triumph! He proceeded coolly to explain to Mr. Vane, that, Mrs. Woffington having deserted him for Mr. Vane, and Mr. Vane his wife for Mrs. Woffington, the bereaved parties had, according to custom, agreed to console each other. This soothing little speech was interrupted by Mr. Vane's sword flashing suddenly out of its sheath; while that gentleman, white with rage and jealousy, bade him instantly take to his guard, or be run through the body like some noxious animal. Sir Charles drew his sword, and, in spite of Triplet's weak interference, half a dozen passes were rapidly exchanged, when suddenly the door of the inner room opened, and a lady in a hood pronounced, in a voice which was an excellent imitation of Mrs. Vane's, the word, “False!” The combatants lowered their points. “You hear, sir!” cried Triplet. “You see, sir!” said Pomander. “Mabel!--wife!” cried Mr. Vane, in agony. “Oh, say this is not true! Oh, say that letter is a forgery! Say, at least, it was by some treachery you were lured to this den of iniquity! Oh, speak!” The lady silently beckoned to some person inside. “You know I loved you--you know how bitterly I repent the infatuation that brought me to the feet of another!” The lady replied not, though Vane's soul appeared to hang upon her answer. But she threw the door open and there appeared another lady, the real Mrs. Vane. Mrs. Woffington then threw off her hood, and, to Sir Charles Pomander's consternation, revealed the features of that ingenious person, who seemed born to outwit him. “You heard that fervent declaration, madam?” said she to Mrs. Vane. “I present to you, madam, a gentleman who regrets that he mistook the real direction of his feelings. And to you, sir,” continued she, with great dignity, “I present a lady who will never mistake either her feelings or her duty.” “Ernest! dear Ernest!” cried Mrs. Vane, blushing as if she was the culprit. And she came forward all love and tenderness. Her truant husband kneeled at her feet of course. No! he said, rather sternly, “How came you here, Mabel?” “Mrs. Vane,” said the actress, “fancied you had mislaid that weathercock, your heart, in Covent Garden, and that an actress had seen in it a fit companion for her own, and had feloniously appropriated it. She came to me to inquire after it.” “But this letter, signed by you?” said Vane, still addressing Mabel. “Was written by me on a paper which accidentally contained Mrs. Vane's name. The fact is, Mr. Vane--I can hardly look you in the face--I had a little wager with Sir Charles here; his diamond ring--which you may see has become my diamond ring”--a horrible wry face from Sir Charles--“against my left glove that I could bewitch a country gentleman's imagination, and make him think me an angel. Unfortunately the owner of his heart appeared, and, like poor Mr. Vane, took our play for earnest. It became necessary to disabuse her and to open your eyes. Have I done so?”