the heart-stricken mother, as she proceeded in her perusal of the fatal document. On completing the perusal, the countess threw herself in silent distraction on a sofa, and, still holding the open letter in her hand, sank into a maze of wild and wandering thoughts. These, however, seemed at length to concentrate in one decisive and sudden resolution. Starting from the reclining posture into which she had thrown herself, she advanced towards the bell-pull, rung furiously, and, when the servant entered to know what were her commands—
'Order the travelling carriage instantly, Jacob,' she said—'instantly, instantly; and let four of my best horses be put in the harness. What do you stare at, fool?' she added, irritated at the look of astonishment which the inexplicable violence of her manner had called into the countenance of her trusty domestic. 'Do as you are ordered, directly.' The man bowed and withdrew; and in pursuance of the commands he had received, proceeded to the stables.
'Here's a start, Thomas!' he said, addressing a jolly-looking fellow, who was busily employed in brushing up some harness; 'the travelling carriage directly, and four of your best horses for my lady.'
'Why, what the devil's the matter now?' replied Thomas, pausing in his operations; 'where's the old girl a-going to?'
'Not knowing, can't say,' replied Jacob; 'but she's in a woundy fuss, I warrant you. Never seed her in such a quandary in my life. Something's wrong somewhere, I guess.'
'Well, well, all's one to me,' said Thomas, with philosophical indifference; 'but it looks like a long start, where-ever it may be to; so I'll get my traps in order.' And this duty was so expeditiously performed, that, in less than fifteen minutes, the very handsome travelling carriage of
the Earl of Wistonbury, drawn by four spanking bays, flashed up to the door of Oxton Hall. In an instant after, it was occupied by the dowager countess, and in another, was rattling away for Scotland, at the utmost speed of the noble animals by which it was drawn.
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?'