“Would it, is it?” said he, eagerly, as he kissed her forehead twice; then, suddenly checking himself, he said, in an altered voice, “but that would be selfish, Kate, nothing else than downright selfish. Ask Nelly, there, if that's my nature? Not that Nelly will ever give me too good a character!” added he, bitterly. But poor Ellen neither heard the question nor the taunt; her mind was travelling many a long mile away in realms of dreary speculation. “I 'm sorry to interrupt a moment like this,” said Sir Stafford, “but I believe I must take you away, Miss Dalton; our time is now of the shortest.” One fond and long embrace the sisters took, and Kate was led away between Sir Stafford and her father, while Nelly went through a round of leave-takings with the others in a state of semi-consciousness that resembled a dream. The courteous flatteries of Lady Hester fell as powerless on her ear as the rougher good wishes of Grounsell. George Onslow's respectful manner was as unnoticed as the flippant smartness of Albert Jekyl's. Even Sydney's gentle attempt at consolation was heard without heeding; and when one by one they had gone and left her alone in that dreary room, she was not more aware of her solitude than when they stood around her. Couriers and waiters passed in and out to see that nothing had been forgotten. Doors were slammed on every side, loud voices were calling, all the turmoil of a departure was there; but she knew nothing of it. Even when the loud cracking of the postilions' whips echoed in the courtyard, and the quick clatter of horses' feet and heavy wheels resounded through the arched doorway, she was still unmoved; nor did she recover full liberty of thought till her father stood beside her, and said, “Come, Nelly, let us go home.” Then she arose, and took his arm without a word. She would have given her life to have been able to speak even a few words of comfort to the poor old man, whose cheeks were wet with tears, but she could not utter a syllable. “Ay, indeed,” muttered he, “it will be a dreary home now.” Not another word was spoken by either as they trod their way along the silent streets, over which the coming gloom of evening threw a mournful shadow. They walked, with bent-down heads, as if actually fearing to recognize the objects that they had so often looked upon with her, and, slowly traversing the little Platz, they gained their own door. There they halted, and, from habit, pulled the bell. Its little tinkle, heard in the stillness, seemed suddenly to recall them both to thought; for Dalton, with a melancholy smile, said, “'T is old Andy is coming now! 'T is n't her foot I hear! Oh, Nelly, Nelly, how did you ever persuade me to this! Sure, I know I 'll never be happy again!”