She was now twenty-eight years of age; and, although somewhat more inclining to _embonpoint_ than when we first described her, she was still a lovely and fascinating woman. That slightly increased roundness of form had given her charms a voluptuousness the most ravishing and seductive, but the effects of which upon the beholder were attempered by the dignity that reigned upon her high and noble brow, and the chaste expression of her melting hazel eyes. She was one of those fine creatures--one of those splendid specimens of the female sex, which are alone seen in the cold climates of the north; for it appears to be a rule in nature that the flowers of our species expand into the most luscious loveliness in the least genial latitudes. There was a soft melancholy in the expression of her countenance, which might have been mistaken for languor, and which gave an additional charm to her appearance; for it was easy to perceive her mind was now at ease, that delicate shade of sadness being the indelible effect of the adventures of the past. Her mind was at ease, because she was pure in heart and virtuous in intention,--because she knew that she had erred innocently when she lent herself to the fraud for which she had suffered,--because she possessed a competency that secured her against care for the present and fear for the future,--and because she dwelt in that strict solitude and retirement which she loved, and which was congenial to a soul that had seen enough of the world to learn to dread its cruel artifices and deceptive ways. We said that it was evening when we again introduce Eliza to the readers. A cold wind whistled without; and a huge Christmas log burnt at the back of the grate, giving an air of supreme comfort to that tastefully-furnished room. The French porcelain time-piece upon the mantel proclaimed the hour of eight. Scarcely had the silvery chime ceased, when Louisa entered the room in great haste and excitement. "Oh, ma'am! who do you think is here?" she cried, closing the door carefully behind her. "It is impossible for me to guess, Louisa," said Eliza, smiling. "Mr. Stephens!" exclaimed the servant: "and he earnestly implores to see you!" "Mr. Stephens!" echoed Eliza. "Impossible!" "It is him, flesh and blood: but so pale--so ghostly pale--and so altered!" "Mr. Stephens!" repeated Eliza. "You must be mistaken--you must be dreaming; for you are well aware that, in accordance with his sentence, he most be very--very far from England." "He is here--he is in London--he is at your door!" said Louisa emphatically; "and as far as I could see by the light of the candle that I had with me when I answered his knock, he is in rags and tatters." "And he wishes to see me?" said Eliza, musing. "Yes, ma'am." There was a pause of a few moments.