De Courcy, shocked and disgusted, turned from her in displeasure; and finding that nothing was to be learnt from her of the place of Laura's retreat, betook himself to the print-shop, where he remembered that he had first procured Miss Montreville's address. Mr Wilkins declared his ignorance on the subject of Montague's inquiries; but, seeing the look of disappointment with which De Courcy was leaving the shop, good-naturedly said, 'I dare say, Sir, if you wish to find out where Miss Montreville lives, I could let you know by asking Colonel Hargrave. He comes here sometimes to look at the caricatures. And,' added Mr Wilkins, winking significantly, 'I am mistaken if they are not very well acquainted.' De Courcy's heart rose to his mouth. 'Perhaps so,' said he, scarcely conscious of what he said. 'There was a famous scene between them here about three weeks ago,' proceeded the print-seller, anxious to justify his own sagacity. 'I suppose they had not met for a while, and there such a kissing and embracing'--''Tis false!' cried De Courcy, lightning flashing from his eyes, 'Miss Montreville would have brooked such indignities from no man on earth.' 'Nay,' said Wilkins, shrugging up his shoulders, 'the shop-lads saw it as well as I--she fainted away in his arms, and he carried her into the back-room there, and would not suffer one of us to come near her; and Mr Finch there saw him down on his knees to her.' 'Cease your vile slanders,' cried De Courcy, half-distracted with grief and indignation, 'I abhor--I despise them. But at your peril dare to breathe them into any other ear.' So saying, he darted from the shop, and returned to his hotel, infinitely more wretched than ever he had been. The happy dream was dispelled that painted him the master of Laura's affections. Another possessed her love; and how visible, how indelicately glaring, must be the preference that was apparent to every vulgar eye! But, bitter as was his disappointment, and cruel the pangs of jealousy, they were ease compared to the torture with which he admitted a thought derogatory to Laura's worth. A thousand times he reproached himself for suffering the hints and conjectures of a lowbred woman to affect his mind;--a thousand times assured himself, that no poverty, no difficulties, would overpower the integrity of Laura. 'Yet Hargrave is a libertine,' said he, 'and if she can love a libertine, how have I been deceived in her! No! it cannot be!--She is all truth--all purity. It is she that is deceived. He has imposed upon her by a false show of virtue, and misery awaits her detection of his deceit. She gone to him! I will never believe it. Libertine as he is, he dared not but to think of it. Extremity of want--lingering famine would not degrade her to this,'--and tears filled De Courcy's manly eyes at the thought that Laura was indeed in want.