“She never knew her mistress in such a way before. She had always behaved so considerate to her, and spoken in such a kind and feeling way, she was sure there was something wrong, and that her mistress had something upon her mind.” Ellen now thought she would once more see his study. She should there be safe from intrusion, and she would look at every thing, and fix it so firmly in her memory, that it should serve as a sort of picture to which her mind’s eye might at any time recur. She marked every chair and table, the very pattern of the cornice, the mouldings on the book-cases, the carving of the chimney-piece. She touched all the papers, the parliamentary reports which crowded the table, and which might have been touched by him. At this moment a chaise drove up to the door, and her brother Henry leaped out of it. In another moment Ellen was in his arms, and clinging to him in the full abandonment of long pent-up sorrow, which at length is allowed free vent. There was a degree of relief in the presence of one to whom she might unburthen her whole soul, from whom she need have no secrets, and with whom she need be under no restraint. This weakness, however, was not of long duration. She quickly shook it off, and rousing herself, she uttered in a firm, though hurrying, manner:— “We must be gone directly, Henry. You will take me to my father’s; you will go with me, dear brother, will you not?” “Where is Hamilton?” he answered. “He has not been here since I received the first packet you enclosed me. We parted then!” She pressed her hand for a moment tightly upon her eye-balls. “Do you then consider the case so hopeless, my poor dear sister?” “Alas! I have from the very first, although he would scarcely believe me.” “Oh, dreadful! dreadful! What is to be done?” “I must go to my father, and I must leave the rest to Providence. I have not wittingly done wrong, so I hope God will assist me to bear that with which it is pleasure to visit me!” “My poor, poor Ellen!” “Do not pity me, Henry! I have prayed for strength, and hitherto I have been mercifully supported. Do not pity me, or I shall not be able to go through what must be done this day.” “Ellen! By Heavens you are the most high-minded, courageous, and noble, as well as the gentlest and loveliest creature I ever saw! Whatever the result may be, you are certainly doing what is right. I am ready to accompany you.” “Every thing is prepared, Henry. I have only one task left, that of bidding adieu to my baby—my little Agnes!” “Do you leave her behind you?” “I cannot rob Algernon of that which will remind him of me, and yet give him pleasure, instead of pain. Neither will I heap more shame and disgrace on my child’s head than is unavoidable.”