Meanwhile Lady Nithsdale had been the first to reach the appointed spot; but Amy Evans soon joined her. She told her how, after having placed the earl in temporary security, she had returned in search of Mr. Mills; how she had traced him to his own home, which he had regained when he recovered from his astonishment; and how they had then removed her lord to the house of a poor woman, directly opposite the guard-house. They imagined that, having changed the disguise in which he had made his escape, all means of tracing him would become difficult; and that the last place which would be searched would be one so near the Tower itself. The poor woman had but a single small room to spare, up one pair of stairs, and which was almost destitute of furniture. Guided by Amy, the countess hastened to this humble abode, and there she had the inexpressible happiness of finding herself re-united to her husband. There are moments of agony too intense to bear description; there are also moments of bliss which baffle the power of language to paint. And if it is sometimes a relief to think the woes that excite our sympathies too acutely are fictitious woes, there ought to be pleasure in reflecting that the happiness which these two devoted spirits then enjoyed was real;--that this is no fiction, but a plain and simple narrative of what has actually occurred. [Footnote A: These details are from Lady Nithsdale's letter.] CHAPTER XXV. But I, that knew what harbour'd in that head, What virtues rare were temper'd in that breast, Honour the place that such a jewel bred, And kiss the ground whereas the corpse doth rest! _Lord Surrey on the Death of Sir Thomas Wyatt._ When Lady Nithsdale, after all the varied sufferings of many weeks, the painful excitement of the few preceding days, the agonising violence she had done to her feelings for the last twelve hours, at length found herself pressed to her husband's bosom, when she knew that she was supported by his arms, over-wrought nature gave way, and she fainted. With the assistance of Amy, however, she soon revived, and in a state of blissful exhaustion she wept freely on his shoulder. Few words were spoken. When her lady seemed more composed, Amy stole away, for she feared to excite the notice of the other lodgers. "Let us pray, my love!" said Lady Nithsdale when the door was closed: "let us together pour forth our souls to that Providence who has this day extended over us so special a mercy. It will relieve my bursting soul to give utterance to the gratitude which almost oppresses it;" and they both sunk on their knees in humble adoration.