“Mighty odd!” exclaimed the attorney; “but lead on;--I'll follow you. I suppose she has her reasons for this; and it matters but little to me which way I go, so that--mark me, woman--so that I am not led a dance: for though I walk slowly, on account of an infirmity in my knees, time, I assure you, is precious to me. Go forward.” The woman immediately walked on towards a little back street, down which she proceeded a short distance, and then turned under an old arched gateway into a solitary yard. The buildings on one side of this place appeared, by a weather-beaten notice board, to have been long without tenants. Through a low wall, on the opposite side of the yard, there were entrance-doors to the back gardens of a range of respectable houses. “I perceive,” said Burdock, as the woman opened one of the garden doors, “that you are smuggling me in the back way.--Give my compliments to your mistress, and tell her, that I prefer entering in the ordinary manner. If you will step through the house, I dare say I shall be at the front door nearly as soon as you have opened it.” Burdock then turned on his heel, and strode away from his guide at rather a brisk pace. On reaching the front door, he found the woman there waiting for him. Casting on the old gentleman a look of reproach, and significantly putting her finger to her lips, she conducted him up stairs, and silently ushered him into Mrs. Blennerhagen's dressing-room. The lady, who was reclining on a sofa, attired in an elegant morning dress, rose as he entered; and, between jest and earnest, reproached him for not having given a more prompt attention to her note. Burdock protested that he had not been guilty of the least delay in obeying her commands. “Well, well!” said the lady, “perhaps I am wrong; but to a woman of my nerves, suffering at once under indisposition, and the most agonizing suspense, every moment seems to be an age.” “What's the matter, madam?” inquired Burdock. “Where is Mr. Blennerhagen?” “Thank Heaven! he is out:--my anxiety has been intense lest you should not arrive before he returned. My dear Mr. Burdock, I'm in the greatest distress.” “Then, upon my honour and conscience, madam, I don't see how I can be of any assistance to you; for my hands are so full of female distress just now--” “Oh, sir!--but not such pressing--such important distress as mine. Recollect that I'm a wife;--a wife, Mr. Burdock, and not altogether indifferent to my husband.” “Well, madam! there are many wives who can say quite as much, I assure you.--But now for your facts: I am bound to hear, even if I cannot assist you.” “Ah! you're a kind--a dear old gentleman:--I always said so, and now I find that I am right. You have a heart formed to sympathize with those who are in sorrow.”