"What unfeeling creatures," said I, "but do not fret, poor soul, or despair. While there is life there is hope. If I cannot get you into a hospital, where you shall have from me linen, tea, wine, and all you may require, you shall be at least as well off in my house, so keep yourself quiet. While I live and you do your duty you shall never want a friend; and if we both die shortly, as may happen, let us hope that God will be found an indulgent father, instead of a severe judge, and will receive us into a better world." The poor creature absolutely seemed to forget her own severe sufferings, while endeavouring to think of what would best relieve mine. In the course of the morning Dr. Bain prescribed for her, and promised to bring me a letter for her admittance into St. George's Hospital. On the next morning, when the poor creature was admitted into that Institution, she fainted from excess of joy and gratitude. Soon after the departure of my protégée, my servant brought me a letter, by the twopenny post; the handwriting was Lord Ponsonby's. Gracious heavens, how my heart beat! I could not open it. I kissed it a thousand times, placed it next my heart--thought I should never have found courage to read it, and when I did at last in fear and trembling, for I had begun to doubt the probability of any good happening to me on earth, it was as follows--very short, and not particularly sweet. "Why, dearest, will you consider these things so seriously! Upon my honour, upon my soul, I can say no, in reply to your question: and you may tell the Duke of Argyle that he is mistaken if he thinks me happy. Do you remember what I said to you at our last meeting, and will you do me the justice to believe I did not deceive you? Pray do. "Adieu, "PONSONBY." "Does this man love me!" thought I, half wild with the delightful idea, "and shall we not meet again? Impossible! As friends, at least, we must, shall meet, or I will die in the attempt."