‘Forgotten?’ exclaimed Fanny, raising her dark eyes sadly and reproachfully to his countenance, as he saw by the light of a lamp which the coach passed at the moment. ‘Do you think that I can ever forget what I have been or what I am now? That I can forget there was a time when I was innocent and happy, and cease to contrast that time with the wretched present?’ ‘Why are you not happy now?’ inquired the roué. ‘Can you ask me why I am not happy now, Blodget?’ returned Fanny, in a tone of deep and touching emphasis. ‘Ah, do not affect what you do not feel. Do not make me think you so thoroughly heartless as such a question would imply. You know that I am not and cannot be happy.’ Blodget was silent, and in a few moments the hack stopped opposite the house that had for some weeks been the abode of the lost and degraded Fanny. Blodget sprang out, assisted Fanny to alight, and having discharged the hack, followed the young girl up the court and into the house in which she lodged. She ascended the stairs, permitting Blodget to follow her, and when they had entered a small bed-room of the most wretched appearance. She closed the door, set the light which she had received on entering the house, upon a pine table, and sinking upon a chair by the side of the bed, buried her countenance in the clothes. ‘How long have you been in such a place as this?’ inquired Blodget, as he threw a quick glance round the wretched chamber. ‘I permitted you to come here, that you might form a faint idea of the depth to which you have plunged me,’ said Fanny, raising her head from the bed. ‘Reproaches are useless,’ returned the man, gloomily: ‘I am sorry for what has passed, Fanny, and now let us be friends again.’ ‘On what terms?’ inquired Fanny. ‘Oh, never mind the terms.’ returned Blodget, sitting on the side of the bed, and taking the young girl’s hand. ‘Kiss me, Fan, and we will have a bottle of wine up here—no, not here,’ he added, again casting his eyes around the miserable chamber. ‘Come away with me to a house of accommodation.’ ‘And to-morrow?’ said Fanny, doubtfully and inquiringly. ‘To-morrow we shall be as good friends as ever we were.’ ‘Blodget,’ said Fanny, in a deep and even solemn tone, while she raised her dark eyes to his countenance, with an expression of profound earnestness, ‘I would rather die than continue to lead the life which I have lived since you so unkindly deserted me. Indeed, I know not why I have not long since sought death in preference to such a life of shame, and misery and conscious degradation. Tell me whether you mean to atone for all that you have made me suffer by making me your wife?’ ‘You cannot expect it,’ returned Blodget, dropping her hands, and taking a hasty turn across the room. ‘You have seen enough of life by this time, I should think, to see the foolishness of such an expectation.’