is departure, since he could now enjoy the society
of his Agnes without stint.

He was, as usual, at Soho one morning, when Harry, sitting alone in the
drawing-room, engaged in needle-work, was alarmed by a shrill shriek,
followed by a heavy fall on the floor beneath, in Mrs. Basil's parlor.
She had heard the front-door closed but a minute before, and the thought
that was never wholly absent from her mind now flashed upon it with
terrible distinctness--the Avenger had come at last! Her next hurried
reflection was one of thankfulness that neither Charley nor Solomon was
at home. Then, pale and trembling, she stole out on the landing of the
stairs, and listened intently. Not a sound was to be heard save the
throbs of her own fluttering breast. The cook and the waiting-maid, who
alone composed the domestic staff, had apparently not heard the noise;
for the former was singing loudly in the kitchen, as was her wont when
she had been "put out," as happened some half dozen times per diem. It
was frightful to think that in yonder parlor her once-loved Richard
might even then be closeted with his mother, deaf to her appeals for
mercy, resolute for revenge, and only demanding where his enemies might
be found: it was better to face him than to picture him thus. That his
sudden appearance had terrified Mrs. Basil into a fit she had little
doubt from that shriek and fall; and, indeed, all was now so still
within there that she might be dead. The fear for her offspring,
however, made Harry almost bold. Indeed, as has been said, she did not
entertain any apprehension of personal violence at Richard's hands; and,
perhaps, in spite of Mrs. Basil's assurance to the contrary, she had
some hope of moving him from his set purpose by her prayers and tears.
Step by step, and clinging to the hand-rail for support, for her limbs
scarcely obeyed her will, she descended the stairs, stood a moment in
the passage, listening like a frightened hare, and then opened the
parlor door. There was no one within it: yes, upon the hearth-rug lay
the motionless form of Mrs. Basil; she was lying on her face; and,
rushing forward, Harry knelt down beside her, and strove to lift her in
her arms. Some instinct seemed to forbid her to call for assistance.

"What is it? what is it?" gasped the old woman, looking vacantly up in
the other's face.

"You have been unwell, dear madam. I am afraid you have had a fainting
fit; but, thank Heaven, you are better now."