“Ah! how do you do, my dear friend? I hope Lady Montressor is well this morning?” said his lordship, advancing to meet the pastor. “I hope so too, but Lady Montressor has not made her appearance to-day,” said Mr. Oldfield. “Indeed! and it is now,” said his lordship, consulting the mantle clock, “half-past twelve.” “Her ladyship sometimes breakfasts and spends her mornings in her chamber, and as she was very much fatigued last night, probably she prefers to keep her own room to-day. Sit down, my lord! sit down! do not stand,” said the minister, handing a chair to his visitor and seating himself. “But, my dear sir, I sent up my card, and neither Lady Montressor nor her attendant is in her ladyship’s apartment. I had hoped that my lady was with you.” “No, sir; no, no; I have seen neither Lady Montressor nor her maid this morning,” said Mr. Oldfield, beginning to feel a vague uneasiness. “This is a little unusual, is it not?” inquired his lordship. “Eh?—yes! it _is_, my lord! _Very_ unusual! I—think I will go up and see if—any thing is the matter!” gasped the old man in a great accession of uneasiness, as he hurriedly left the room to go in search of his charge. Lord Montressor, being left alone, paced up and down the parlor floor until he was startled by the violent throwing open of the door, and the impetuous entrance of Mr. Oldfield, who pale and agitated held out two letters—one sealed, the other open and fluttering in his hand. “What! what is the matter? Estelle! my Estelle! Is she ill? Has any thing happened to her? In the name of Heaven speak, Mr. Oldfield! What of my Estelle?” exclaimed Lord Montressor, stricken with a panic of anxiety. “Gone! my lord! She is gone!” “GONE!” “Gone! Fled!” “FLED!” “Fled, my lord! Fled alone!” “In the name of Heaven, my friend, what mean you?” “Oh! sir! read and see!” exclaimed the old man, thrusting the two letters into the hands of his companion, and sinking into a chair, and wiping the drops of cold perspiration from his forehead. Lord Montressor seized the billets, and naturally read the open one first. It was addressed to Mr. Oldfield, and was as follows: “DEAR AND HONORED FRIEND:—Duty constrains me to depart. And though your heart so pleads for the temporal happiness of your ‘child,’ as almost now to drown the voice of conscience, yet on calm, dispassionate reflection, you will see that it is so. Farewell! Be Heaven as kind to you, as you have been to the poor ESTELLE.” With a heavy groan, Lord Montressor threw this note aside, and tore open and devoured the contents of the other, which was addressed to himself. It was written as coolly as she in her self-denial had ordained it to be: