There is one very elegant-looking man here that I meet in the passage every time I go to my bed-room. He always bows, but we have not spoken yet. Bring five sovereigns with you, and be sure set off the moment you get this. "Your affectionate aunt, "MARTHA BARNABY." It needs not to say the sort of effect which the tone of this letter produced on a mind in itself delicate and unsunned as the bells of the valley lily, and filled to overflowing with the image of the noble Hubert. Yet there were other feelings that mingled with this deep disgust; she pitied her aunt Barnaby, and could any decent or womanly exertion have done her good, or even pleasure, she would not have shrunk from making it. But what she asked was beyond her power to perform; and, moreover, she had promised Colonel Hubert not to leave the house. How dear to her was the recollection of this injunction!... how delightful the idea that his care and his commands protected her from the horrors of such a progress as that sketched out by her aunt Barnaby. To obey her was therefore altogether out of the question; but she sat down to write to her, and endeavoured to soften her refusal by pleading her terror of the streets at any hour, and her total want of strength and courage to undertake such an expedition; adding, that she supposed by her account there could be no doubt of their meeting in Half-Moon Street on the morrow. But the morrow and its morrow came, without bringing Mrs. Barnaby. In fact, writ after writ had poured in upon her, but hoping still to evade those yet to come, she only furnished herself with what each one required, and so prolonged her imprisonment to the end of the week. Her indignation at Agnes's refusal to come to her was excessive, and she answered her letter by a vehement declaration that she would never again inhabit the same house with her. This last epistle ended thus:-- "If you don't wish to be turned neck and heels into the street the moment I return, look out for a nursery-maid's or a kitchen-maid's place if you will ... only take care never to let me set eyes upon you again. Ungrateful wretch!... What is Morrison's ingratitude to yours? For nearly seven months you have eaten at my cost, been lodged at my cost, travelled at my cost, ay, and been clothed at my cost too. And what is the return?... I am in prison for debts, which, of course, were incurred as much for you as for myself; and you refuse to come to me!... Never let me see you more--never let me hear your name, and never again turn your thoughts or hopes to your for ever offended aunt, "MARTHA BARNABY."