“I glanced over it,” replied the lady, carelessly; “I suppose that it is lying on one of the tables.” The earl rose and looked around for the magazine. His wife was too busy in arranging the shades for a withered rose-leaf to give him the least assistance. She was too busy to notice that he at length extended his search for the missing periodical to the drawer of her writing-table. Into that drawer, with habitual carelessness, the countess had thrust a little manuscript, to which, after hastily writing it, she had scarcely given a thought. “What’s this?” exclaimed Dashleigh half aloud, as his gaze unwittingly fell upon the title—“The Precipice and the Peer.” The first glance had been purely accidental, for the earl was above petty curiosity, and would never have touched either paper or drawer had he supposed them to contain anything secret. But now an ungovernable impulse made him open the leaves, and hastily run his eye over the contents. Annabella had just succeeded in finding a missing shade of russet, when she was startled by a sudden sound resembling a stamp; and looking up, she saw the earl with his very temples crimsoned by rage, and her unfortunate burlesque in his hand. “Lord Dashleigh!” exclaimed the countess, “that was never intended—” “Never intended for my eye!” thundered the earl, who was in a violent passion; and tearing the manuscript into a hundred pieces, he trampled it under his foot! “That is the action of a pettish child!” exclaimed Annabella, almost as much irritated as her husband, her eyes flashing indignant fire. “Leave the room, insolent girl!” cried the earl; and turning round as he spoke, he perceived to his surprise and inexpressible annoyance that he had two unexpected auditors—his servant having a moment before opened the door, to announce the Duke of Montleroy, who was following close behind! Dashleigh was so much confused—overwhelmed at being discovered by such a person in such a position—that of a husband quarrelling with his own wife, and giving way to a burst of passion degrading to any man, but most of all to one of his exalted station—that he remained for some minutes transfixed, totally unable to speak. Annabella, on the contrary, lost none of her self-possession. She swept past the bewildered duke, with a passing reverence which might have beseemed an empress, and proceeded at once to her own chamber, without uttering a word. As soon as she had reached it, she violently rang her bell. The maid who obeyed the summons found her mistress sitting at her toilette table, calm, tearless, but pale with suppressed emotion. She was selecting various articles of jewellery from a large mahogany box. “Bates, bid the coachman put the horses to directly, and do you prepare to accompany me in the carriage,” was the countess’s brief command.