“The mere suspicion, Mr. Hartley, can have no weight with me, considering that I can oppose to it the testimony of the man with whom I am willing to share my future fortunes. You acknowledge the question is but doubtful, and should not the assertion of him of whom I think so highly decide my belief in a doubtful matter? What, indeed, must he be, should this Madame Montreville be other than he represented her?” “What must he be, indeed!” thought Hartley internally, but his lips uttered not the words. He looked down in a deep reverie, and at length started from it at the words of Miss Gray. “It is time to remind you, Mr. Hartley, that we must needs part. God bless and preserve you.” “And you, dearest Menie,” exclaimed Hartley as he sunk on one knee, and pressed to his lips the hand which she held out to him. “God bless you!--you must deserve blessing. God protect you!--you must need protection.--Oh, should things prove different from what you hope, send for me instantly, and if man can aid you, Adam Hartley will!” He placed in her hand a card containing his address. He then rushed from the apartment. In the hall he met the lady of the mansion, who made him a haughty reverence in token of adieu, while a native servant of the upper class, by whom she was attended, made a low and reverential salam. Hartley hastened from the Black Town, more satisfied than before that some deceit was about to be practised towards Menie Gray--more determined than ever to exert himself for her preservation; yet more completely perplexed, when he began to consider the doubtful character of the danger to which she might be exposed, and the scanty means of protection which she had to oppose to it. CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. As Hartley left the apartment in the house of Ram Sing Cottah by one mode of exit, Miss Gray retired by another, to an apartment destined for her private use. She, too, had reason for secret and anxious reflection, since all her love for Middlemas, and her full confidence in his honour, could not entirely conquer her doubts concerning the character of the person whom he had chosen for her temporary protectress. And yet she could not rest these doubts upon any thing distinctly conclusive; it was rather a dislike of her patroness's general manners, and a disgust at her masculine notions and expressions, that displeased her, than any thing else. Meantime, Madame Montreville, followed by her black domestic, entered the apartment where Hartley and Menie had just parted. It appeared from the conversation which follows, that they had from some place of concealment overheard the dialogue we have narrated in the former chapter. “It is good luck, Sadoc,” said the lady, “that there is in this world the great fool.” “And the great villain,” answered Sadoc, in good English, but in a most sullen tone. “This woman, now,” continued the lady, “is what in Frangistan you call an angel.” “Ay, and I have seen those in Hindostan you may well call devil.”