for him. He then implored and conjured them, as they loved him, to struggle against their feelings;--and to rely upon his pledge to send them, within two hours at the furthest, intelligence of his movements--assuring them of his confident belief, that in less than twenty-four hours he should have returned to them. While he was speaking in this strain, Mrs. Aubrey suddenly quitted the room, and after a moment's absence returned, her pallid, agitated countenance overspread with a wild smile of delight, as she exclaimed breathlessly--"There, love! Dearest Charles! He says there is no harm in the world in my going with you in the coach--and, indeed, we may have rooms to ourselves!" "My sweet Agnes"---- "I will--I _will_ go with you, Charles! Nothing shall prevent me--even if I leave you at the door of the place you are going to!" It was in vain for Mr. Aubrey to protest--as he did, both earnestly and vehemently;--her impassioned importunities were irresistible, and she rushed breathlessly up-stairs to prepare her dress to accompany him on his brief but melancholy journey. Within a very few minutes she had returned, just as the sound of the coach-wheels approaching the door was heard. Mr. Aubrey and Kate perceived the dangerous excitement under which she was laboring, and dreaded its effects: yet what could be done? He could not prolong his stay--and it would be infinitely more dangerous to leave her behind, now that she had set her heart upon accompanying him, than to permit her to do so. She carried down little Agnes in her arms--and had been almost suffocating her and Charles, who walked after her, with kisses and convulsive embraces. Both the children were crying bitterly; and as soon as Mrs. Aubrey had reached the parlor door, and heard the coach-steps letting down, she fell into violent hysterics. "I'll tell you what, sir," whispered Grab, as he stood close beside Mr. Aubrey, who was supporting Mrs. Aubrey--"it wouldn't be amiss if I was to say you should come along with me at once, while this poor lady's insensible--and then when she 'd have come to herself, and know'd you was _gone_, and no mistake--why--she'd in course think no more of it "----