Having hastily arranged his toilette in the bed-room up stairs, and put on a dark upper coat and a large woollen "comforter," he sallied forth—but not without having previously kissed both the Jewess and little Charley. At the nearest coach-stand he entered a hack-vehicle, and ordered the driver to take him to the residence of Lady Hatfield, in Piccadilly. But ere the coach arrived quite opposite the front door of the fair patrician's abode, Rainford alighted, and dismissed the vehicle. Then he advanced to the house:—but it was with the step of a man who would rather—oh! a thousand times rather—have fled in any other direction. His hand was on the knocker, and he hesitated,—yes, he hesitated; and that hand trembled. It must have been some powerful cause that could have made the gallant—dauntless—almost hair-brained Tom Rain manifest so much emotion. But at length the summons was given; and a livery-servant opened the door. To Rainford's inquiry whether Lady Hatfield were at home, an affirmative answer was given. "Say to your mistress," returned the highwayman, "that a person wishes to speak to her upon very particular business—and do me the favour to show me to a room where I can see her ladyship alone." The servant hesitated a moment—for the excited tone in which the request was made somewhat surprised him. But remembering that it was not his business to question his lady's visitors, he conducted Rainford into a parlour where a fire was burning in the grate; and, having lighted the candles, the domestic retired to deliver to Lady Hatfield the message which he had received. The few minutes which elapsed ere the door of that room again opened, seemed like an age to Tom Rain. He first sate down: then he rose again and stood before the fire in a state of extraordinary nervousness. In fact, he appeared perfectly unmanned. We can conceive the feelings of appalling doubt—hope mingled with terrific fear—and agonising suspense, that must be experienced by an individual accused of a capital crime, and awaiting in the dock the return of the jury in whose hands are his life and death. Such was the state of Tom Rain during the five mortal minutes that elapsed ere the door again opened. At length it _did_ open—and, though he had his back turned towards it, yet the rustling of silk and a light, airy tread convinced him that the lady of the house was now in that room. He turned: the light streamed full upon his countenance—for he had laid aside his hat and woollen comforter; and Lady Hatfield—for it was she—uttered a faint scream as her eyes met his. "Pardon this intrusion—fear me not _now_, my lady!" exclaimed Rainford hastily: "but grant me five minutes' attention, I implore you—not for _my_ sake—for _yours_!" Georgiana had started back, and had become pale as death when she recognised the highwayman: but even while he was yet speaking, she recovered herself sufficiently to approach the spot where he was standing.