The countess pressed Amy's hand, and they silently awaited Mrs. Mills's coming. It was late before she arrived; but she told them that on the following day, the Saturday, Lord Nithsdale might remove to the ambassador's, where M. Michel undertook to conceal him in his own chamber; that on the Wednesday in the following week, his excellency's coach-and-six was to go to Dover to meet his brother, when M. Michel could easily take Lord Nithsdale in his master's livery as one of his retinue. All seemed to promise well, and the countess breathed more freely. Mrs. Mills had considerately brought with her some bread, which, with a loaf and a bottle of wine which had been provided the evening before, was all they had to subsist upon for the two days and nights they spent in their present lurking-place. On the Saturday they parted, according to this arrangement. To both, such a parting was a severe trial! The countess feared every possible and every impossible danger must beset his path when she could no longer see him with her own eyes. He found the task a hard one to tear himself again from her, when so lately re-united; but he also felt how incumbent it was on him to accept with gratitude so favourable an opportunity of escaping. They were both aware that to linger in England was risking all their hardly-earned happiness. In trembling hope, they parted. "It would be sinful in us to mistrust Providence," he said; "we have been so mercifully dealt with, we ought to feel confidence that we shall be preserved to a safe and joyful meeting!" "True, true, my love. I would not detain you one moment in this fatal land! I wish you gone! And yet--and yet--it is so painful, so very painful, to part! But you shall go--even now,--this moment! It is not for me to doubt the mercy of Heaven." She gently disengaged herself from him: he pressed her once more to his bosom, and then followed Mrs. Mills to the door. He there paused to take one more look at her as she stood half supported by Amy. She watched him through the doorway,--she listened to his step as he descended the stairs,--she heard the street-door shut:--"He is gone!" she said; "but I must not repine. Oh, what a parting it might have been! When I think of Lady Derwentwater and of Lady Kenmure, I feel how blessed I am! I will not weep--I will not grieve: I must allow no feeling but that of gratitude to find a place within this bosom!" CHAPTER XXVI. La nef qui déjoint mes amours N'a cy de moi que la moitié. Une parte te reste, elle est tienne. _Mary Queen of Scots._ The Countess of Nithsdale lost no time in quitting her present retreat, and she took up her abode at the house of a quiet honest man in Drury Lane, where, in the utmost privacy, she awaited the news of her husband's safe arrival on the Continent.