"Mr. de Medina is a well-informed, intelligent, and even erudite man," answered the Earl. "His daughter is highly accomplished, sensible, and amiable. I feel an additional interest in them, because they belong to a race whom it is the fashion to revile and often to despise. It is true that my acquaintance with Mr. de Medina and his daughter scarcely dates from a month back; but I have already seen—and if not, I have _heard_ enough of them, to know that he is the pattern of integrity and the young lady the personification of every virtue." [Illustration] The doctor made no reply. Certain was he that he "could a tale unfold" which would totally undeceive his noble friend relative to the character of Esther. But his lips were sealed by a solemn vow; and, even if they were not, there was no necessity to detail how he had been summoned to attend on the young lady and rescue her from the fate and crime of suicide,—how he had good cause to know that she was either a wife or a mistress, but he suspected the latter,—how he had seen that splendid form stretched half-naked upon the bed, the bosom heaving convulsively with physical and mental agony, and the exquisitely modelled arms flung wildly about with excruciating pain,—how the large black eyes had been fixed imploringly upon him, and the vermillion lips had parted to give utterance to words demanding from himself the fiat of her life or death:—there was no necessity, we say, to narrate all this, even if no vow had bound him to silence, because Lord Ellingham sought not that lovely Jewess as a wife. That Esther de Medina and the lady of South Moulton Street were one and the same person, the doctor felt convinced. The tones of Esther's voice, flowing upon the ear with such silver melody,—the two rows of brilliant, beautiful teeth,—the face—the hair—the eyes,—the configuration of the form, with its fine but justly proportioned bust and slender waist,—all were identical! But what chiefly amazed—nay, bewildered the physician, was the calm indifference with which Esther had met his rapid, searching glance,—the admirable composure with which she had encountered him—the firmness, amounting almost to an insolent assurance, with which she had spoken to him,—never once quailing, nor blushing, nor manifesting the slightest embarrassment, but actually treating him as a person whom she saw for the first time, and as if he were totally unacquainted with any thing that militated against her character;—all this was naturally a subject of ineffable astonishment and wonder. Lord Ellingham accompanied the doctor to Grafton Street; and when they had entered the house, Dr. Lascelles made him acquainted with Lady Hatfield's indisposition. "She is ill!" ejaculated Arthur, profoundly touched by these tidings: "and I dare not call even to inquire concerning her!" "And wherefore should you not manifest that courtesy?" asked the doctor.