"But," exclaimed she, "I am going on an errand which ought not to spread a blush on the cheek of prudery itself. I am going to impart alleviation to the sufferings of the noblest creature that ever walked the earth!" Perhaps there are few persons who, being auditors of this speech, would have decided quite so candidly on the superlative by which it was concluded. Mary herself was not wholly divested of doubt about the issue of her conduct; but conscious that her motive was pure, she descended to the breakfast-room with a quieter mind than countenance. Never before having had occasion to throw a gloss on her actions, she scarcely looked up during breakfast. When the cloth was removed, she rose suddenly from her chair, and turning to Miss Dorothy, who sat at the other end of the parlor, with her foot on a stool, said in a low voice, "Good-by, aunt! I am going to make some particular calls; but I shall be back in a few hours." Luckily, no one observed her blushing face whilst she spoke, nor the manner in which she shook hands with the old lady and hurried out of the room. Breathless with confusion, she could scarcely stand when she arrived in her own chamber; but aware that no time ought to be lost, she tied on a long, light silk cloak, of sober gray, over her white morning- dress, and covering her head with a straw summer bonnet, shaded by a black lace veil, hesitated a moment within her chamber-door--her eyes filling with tears, drawn from her heart by that pure spirit of truth which had ever been the guardian of her conduct! Looking up to heaven, she sunk on her knees, and exclaimed with impetuosity, "Father of mercy! thou only knowest my heart! Direct me, I beseech thee! Let me not commit anything unworthy of myself nor of the unhappy Constantine--for whom I would sacrifice my life, but not my duty to thee!" Reassured by the confidence which this simple act of devotion inspired, she took her parasol and descended the stairs. The porter was alone in the hall. She inquired for her servant. "He is not returned, madam," Having foreseen the necessity of getting rid of all attendants, she had purposely sent her footman on an errand as far as Kensington. "It is of no consequence," returned she to the porter, who was just going to propose one of Lady Dundas's men. "I cannot meet with anything disagreeable at this time of day, so I shall walk alone." The man opened the door; and with a bounding heart Mary hastened down the street, crossed the square, and at the bottom of Orchard Street stepped into a hackney-coach, which she ordered to drive to Slaughter's Coffee-house, St. Martin's Lane. She drew up the glasses and closed her eyes. Various thoughts agitated her anxious mind whilst the carriage rolled along; and when it drew up at the coffee-house, she involuntarily retreated into the corner. The coach-door was opened. "Will you alight, ma'am?" "No; call a waiter."