emotion.

"Sit down a few minutes," he said.

"No--no. I had better go at once."

He took her hand to conduct her to the carriage. The servants were
gathered in the hall, waiting for her. Some had grown gray in her
father's service. She put out her hand, she strove to say a word of
thanks and of farewell, and she thought she would choke at the effort
of keeping down the sobs. At length it was over; a kind look around, a
yearning wave of the hand, and she passed on with Mr. Carlyle.

Pound had ascended to his place by Marvel, and the postboys were
awaiting the signal to start, but Mr. Carlyle had the carriage door open
again, and was bending in holding her hand.

"I have not said a word of thanks to you for all your kindness, Mr.
Carlyle," she cried, her breath very labored. "I am sure you have seen
that I could not."

"I wish I could have done more; I wish I could have shielded you from
the annoyances you have been obliged to endure!" he answered. "Should we
never meet again--"

"Oh, but we shall meet again," she interrupted. "You promised Lord Mount
Severn."

"True; we may so meet casually--once in a way; but our ordinary paths in
life lie far and wide apart. God forever bless you, dear Lady Isabel!"

The postboys touched their horses, and the carriage sped on. She drew
down the blinds and leaned back in an agony of tears--tears for the
house she was leaving, for the father she had lost. Her last thoughts
had been of gratitude to Mr. Carlyle: but she had more cause to be
grateful to him than she yet knew of. Emotion soon spent itself, and,
as her eyes cleared, she saw a bit of crumpled paper lying on her lap,
which appeared to have fallen from her hand. Mechanically she took it up
and opened it; it was a bank-note for one hundred pounds.

Ah, reader! You will say that this is a romance of fiction, and a
far-fetched one, but it is verily and indeed true. Mr. Carlyle had taken
it with him to East Lynne, that morning, with its destined purpose.

Lady Isabel strained her eyes, and gazed at the note--gazed and gazed
again. Where could it have come from? What had brought it there?
Suddenly the undoubted truth flashed upon her; Mr. Carlyle had left it
in her hand.

Her cheeks burned, her fingers trembled, her angry spirit rose up in
arms. In that first moment of discovery, she was ready to resent it as
an insult; but when she came to remember the sober facts of the last few
days, her anger subsided into admirat