“Oh! my lord, your resignation would indeed be a blow I could never recover. The bare apprehension deprives me at this moment of all power of thought; but still I hope--” “Hear me, sir, I beg, without interruption: it is my business to think for you. Go immediately to the Duke of Greenwich, make what terms with him you can--make what advantage you can of the secret of my approaching resignation--a secret I now put in your power to communicate to his grace, and which no one yet suspects--I having told it to no one living but to yourself. Go quickly to the duke--time presses--I wish you success--and a better patron than I have been, than my principles would permit me to be. Farewell, Mr. Falconer.” The commissioner moved towards the door when Lord Oldborough said “_Time presses_;” but the commissioner stopped--turned back--could not go: the tears--real tears--rolled down his cheeks--Lord Oldborough went forward, and held out his hand to him--the commissioner kissed it, with the reverence with which he would have kissed his sovereign’s hand; and bowing, he involuntarily backed to the door, as if quitting the presence of majesty. “It is a pity that man was bred a mere courtier, and that he is cursed with a family on none of whom there is any dependence,” thought Lord Oldborough, as the door closed upon the commissioner for ever. Lord Oldborough delayed an hour purposely, to give Mr. Falconer advantage of the day with the Duke of Greenwich: then ordered his carriage, and drove to--Mrs. Falconer’s. Great was her surprise at the minister’s entrance.--“Concerned the commissioner was not at home.” “My business is with Mrs. Falconer.” “My lord--your lordship--the honour and the pleasure of a visit--Georgiana, my dear.” Mrs. Falconer nodded to her daughter, who most unwillingly, and as if dying with curiosity, retired. The smile died away upon Mrs. Falconer’s lips as she observed the stern gravity of Lord Oldborough’s countenance. She moved a chair towards his lordship--he stood, and leaning on the back of the chair, paused, as he looked at her. “What is to come?--Cunningham, perhaps,” thought Mrs. Falconer; “or perhaps something about John. When will he speak?--I can’t--I must--I am happy to see your lordship looking so well.” “Is Mrs. Falconer acquainted with Lady Trant?” “Lady Trant--yes, my lord.” “Mercy! Is it possible?--No, for her own sake she would not betray me,” thought Mrs. Falconer. “Intimately?” said Lord Oldborough. “Intimately--that is, as one’s intimate with every body of a certain sort--one visits--but no farther--I can’t say I have the honour--” Mrs. Falconer was so distracted by seeing Lord Oldborough searching in his pocket-book for a letter, that in spite of all her presence of mind, she knew not what she said; and all her presence of countenance failed, when Lord Oldborough placed before her eyes the cover directed to Captain Nuttall. Can you guess how this came into Lady Trant’s possession, madam?”