Changing here, once more, the scene of our story, we return to the house of Professor Lockerby. There matters continued in that ominous state of quiescence, that significant and portentous calm, that precedes the bursting of the storm. Between the professor and the young earl, not a word more had passed on the subject of the latter's extraordinary declaration. Neither had made the slightest subsequent allusion to it, but continued their studies precisely as they had done before; although, perhaps, a degree of restraint--a consciousness of some point of difference between them--might now be discerned in their correspondence. Both, in short, seemed to have tacitly agreed to abide the result of the professor's letter to the countess, before taking any other step, or expressing any other feeling, on the subject to which that letter related. The anticipated crisis which the professor and his noble pupil were thus composedly awaiting, soon arrived. On the third day after that remarkable one on which the young Earl of Wistonbury had avowed the humble daughter of an humble Scotch farmer to be his wife, a carriage and four, which, we need scarcely say, was the same we saw start from Oxton Hall, drove furiously up to the door of Professor Lockerby. The horses' flanks sent forth clouds of smoke; their mouths and fore-shoulders were covered with foam; and the carriage itself was almost encased in mud. Everything, in short, told of a long and rapid journey. And it was so. Night and day, without one hour's intermission, had that carriage prosecuted its journey. In an instant after, the carriage stopped; its steps were down, and, bridling with high and lofty indignation, the Dowager Countess of Wistonbury descended, and, ere any one of the professor's family were aware of her arrival, she had entered the house, the door being accidentally open, and was calling loudly for 'her boy.' 'Where is my son?' she exclaimed, as she made her way into the interior of the house: 'where is the Earl of Wistonbury?' In a moment after the Earl of Wistonbury, who had heard and instantly recognized his mother's voice, was before her, and was about to rush into her arms, when she haughtily thrust him back, saying-- 'Degraded, spiritless boy, dare not too approach me! You have blotted the noblest, the proudest scutcheon of England. Where is Professor Lockerby?' The professor was by her side before she had completed the sentence, when, seeing her agitation-- 'My good lady,' he said, in his most persuasive tone, 'do allow me to entreat of you to be composed, and to have the honour of conducting you up stairs.' 'Anywhere!--anywhere, professor!' exclaimed the countess; 'but, alas! go where I will, I cannot escape the misery of my own thoughts, nor the disgrace which my unworthy son has brought upon my head.'