“Business of importance,” said Mr. Westbury, “has of late demanded all my time, and to-morrow I must start for New York.” “For New York!” said Julia. “To be absent how long?” “That,” said Mr. Westbury, “must depend on circumstances. I may be absent some time.” “May I not hope to hear from you occasionally?” Julia assumed courage to ask. “Yes—I will certainly write, from time to time.” “He does not ask me to write,” thought Julia, with a sigh. “He is quite indifferent how she fares whom he calls his wife!” The following morning witnessed the departure of Mr. Westbury, and Julia was left to painful conjecture as to the cause of his dejection. Three weeks passed away, in each of which she received a letter from him, comporting exactly with his manner toward her—friendly and respectful, but neither tender nor confiding. At the close of that period Julia was one day alarmed by the unceremonious entrance of a sheriff's officer. He was the bearer of a writ of attachment, with orders to seize all the furniture. “At whose suit do you come?” Julia asked the officer. “At Mr. Eldon's, madam. He holds a note of some thousands against Mr. Westbury, and thinks no time is to be lost in making it secure. You have jewels of value, madam, which I was ordered to include in the attachment.” “Will you allow me a few minutes for reflection?” said Julia, whose faculties seemed benumbed by the suddenness of the blow. “Certainly, madam, certainly—any accommodation in my power I shall be happy to grant.” “What _can_ I do? what _ought_ I to do?” thought Julia. “O, that Mr. Westbury were at home! Mr. Eveleth—yes—I will send for him; he can advise me, if the officer will only wait.” “Will you suspend your operations for half an hour, sir,” asked Julia, “that I may send for a friend to advise and assist me?” “Why, my time is very precious, madam, and my orders to attach were peremptory; nevertheless, half an hour will make no great difference, so to oblige you, I will wait.”