“No, my dear,” replied Lady Delacour, calmly. “I have chosen this for my bedchamber, because it is at a distance from the servants’ rooms; and when _the operation_, which I have to go through, shall be performed, my cries, if I should utter any, will not be overheard. The surgeon will be here in a few days, and it is not worth while to make any change.” The next day, towards evening, the surgeon and Dr. X---- arrived. Belinda’s blood ran cold at the sight of them. “Will you be so kind, Miss Portman,” said Marriott, “as to let my lady know that they are come? for I am not well able to go, and you can speak more composed to her than I can.” Miss Portman went to Lady Delacour’s bedchamber. The door was bolted. As Lady Delacour opened it, she fixed her eyes upon Belinda, and said to her with a mild voice, “You are come to tell me that the surgeon is arrived. I knew that by the manner in which you knocked at the door. I will see him this moment,” continued she, in a firm tone; and she deliberately put a mark in the book which she had been reading, walked leisurely to the other end of the room, and locked it up in her book-case. There was an air of determined dignity in all her motions. “Shall we go? I am ready,” said she, holding out her hand to Belinda, who had sunk upon a chair. “One would think that you were the person that was going to suffer. But drink this water, my dear, and do not tremble for me; you see that I do not tremble for myself. Listen to me, dearest Belinda! I owe it to your friendship not to torment you with unnecessary apprehensions. Your humanity shall be spared this dreadful scene.” “No,” said Belinda, “Marriott is incapable of attending you. I must--I will--I am ready now. Forgive me one moment’s weakness. I admire, and will imitate, your courage. I will keep my promise.” “Your promise was to be with me in my dying moments, and to let me breathe my last in your arms.” “I hope that I shall never be called upon to perform that promise.”