But one day Thomas Barnsdale received her in the counting-house with a very distressed air, closed the door after her, and having carefully locked it, produced a letter, saying that he was compelled to break to her very unhappy news. “What!” exclaimed Letty, springing from her chair, “is Henry dead? Oh, tell me quickly—what is it?” “No, madam,” said Barnsdale; “but I lament to say, he is dead to shame and honour.” Letty seized the letter and read. It was one in confidence from the agent at the London warehouse, a respectable and trustworthy man, to say, that Mr. Thorsby was actually living in Bond-street with a young woman whom he had brought up from Castleborough with him. Letty let fall the letter, and sank into the chair. Long she sat as in a swoon, yet her eyes were open and gazing on the opposite wall. Barnsdale was alarmed and was about to run for help, but suddenly Letty seized him by the arm, and heaving a deep, deep sigh, said, woefully,—“This is beyond all!—beyond all! How have I deserved this?” “Dear madam,” said Mr. Barnsdale, “this is intolerable—it is not to be endured. Though I lose my office, I will instantly to London. I will drag that woman from his house. I will compel this unhappy man to return home.” “No! no! Mr. Barnsdale, that must not be,” said Letty, drawing her hand across her brow as if bewildered. “I am so dizzy!—but that must not be. Stay you here. You cannot leave this post. I will go myself.” “You go, madam! No, you cannot—must not.” “Yes, I _will_ go myself. O God, what a misery! But run, Mr. Barnsdale, secure the whole inside of the three o’clock coach, if possible. I will be ready.” Barnsdale looked aghast, perplexed to absolute despair; but Letty hastened away, and sent off the carriage post-haste for her brother George. She then set to work, ordered the nurse to be ready with the child for an instant journey to London; put up a few things for herself, and awaited her brother. In less than two hours he was there, and the awful disclosure made. George was furious. Like Barnsdale, he was for going off at once and inflicting summary vengeance on the traitor. “What a viper! what a devil!” he exclaimed; “but he shall repent this foul, this diabolical wrong. Oh, my poor, dear Letty!” and he embraced his sister with passionate tears. But Letty succeeded in showing him that it was better for her to go. She would take the child—that would move him if anything would—and George should accompany her to support her when it was necessary. George set off in haste for a change of linen and overcoat, and at three o’clock the sad party were seated in the London coach. Barnsdale had luckily secured the whole inside, so that, the nurse travelling occasionally outside well wrapped up, George and Letty could talk freely on their melancholy topic, and the child could lie during the night on the front seat as snug as in his cradle.