"Ah! this seems as if it were to be the successful candidate," said Diana, carefully perusing the last remaining letter. "It is written upon a plain sheet of white paper and without scent. But then the style--how manly! Yes--decidedly, the Earl of Warrington has gained the prize. He is rich--unmarried--handsome--and still in the prime of life! There is no room for hesitation." The Enchantress immediately penned the following note: "I should have replied without delay to your lordship's letter of yesterday week, but have been suffering severely from cold and bad spirits. The former has been expelled by my physician: the latter can only be forced to decamp by the presence of your lordship. "DIANA ARLINGTON." Having despatched this note to the Earl of Warrington, the Enchantress retired to her bed-room to prepare her toilette for the arrival of the nobleman around whom she had thus suddenly decided upon throwing her magic spells. At eight o'clock that evening, a brilliant equipage stopped at the door of the house in which Mrs. Arlington resided. The Earl of Warrington alighted, and was forthwith conducted into the presence of the Enchantress. And never was she more bewitching:--never had she appeared more transcendently lovely. A dress of the richest black velvet, very low in the _corsage_, set off her voluptuous charms and displayed the pure and brilliant whiteness of the skin to the highest advantage. Her ears were adorned with pendants of diamonds; and a tiara glittering with the same precious stones, encircled her brow. There was a soft and languishing melancholy in her deep blue eyes and in the expression of her countenance, which formed an agreeable contrast to the dazzling loveliness of her person and the splendour of her attire. She was enchanting indeed. Need we say that the nobleman, who had already been introduced to her and admired her, was enraptured with the prize that thus surrendered itself to him? Diana became the mistress of the Earl of Warrington, and the very next day removed to a splendid suite of apartments in Albemarle Street, while his lordship's upholsterers furnished a house for her reception. CHAPTER XXVI. NEWGATE. NEWGATE! what an ominous sound has that word. And yet the horror exists not in the name itself; for it is a very simple compound, and would not grate upon the ear nor produce a shudder throughout the frame, were it applied to any other kind of building. It is, then, its associations and the ideas which it conjures up that render the word NEWGATE fearful and full of dark menace.