d," cried
she. "My mother is gone. My God, have pity on me! my husband does not
love me."

The cold villain was startled at the mighty storm his mean hand had
raised. This creature had not only more feeling, but more passion, than
a hundred libertines. He muttered some villain's commonplaces; while
this unhappy young lady raised her hands to heaven, and sobbed in a way
very terrible to any manly heart.

"He is unworthy you," muttered Pomander. "He has forfeited your love. He
has left you nothing but revenge. Be comforted. Let me, who have learned
already to adore you--"

"So," cried she, turning on him in a moment (for, on some points,
woman's instinct is the lightning of wisdom), "this, sir, was your
object? I may no longer hold a place in my husband's heart; but I am
mistress of his house. Leave it, sir! and never return to it while I
live."

Sir Charles, again discomfited, bowed reverentially. "Your wish shall
ever be respected by me, madam! But here they come. Use the right of a
wife. Conceal yourself in that high chair. See, I turn it; so that they
cannot see you. At least you will find I have but told you the truth."

"No!" cried Mabel, violently. "I will not spy upon my husband at the
dictation of his treacherous friend."

Sir Charles vanished. He was no sooner gone than Mrs. Vane crouched,
trembling, and writhing with jealousy, in the large, high-backed chair.
She heard her husband and the _soi-disant_ Lady Betty Modish enter.
During their absence, Mrs. Woffington had doubtless been playing her
cards with art; for it appeared that a reconciliation was now taking
place. The lady, however, was still cool and distant. It was poor
Mabel's fate to hear these words: "You must permit me to go alone, Mr.
Vane. I insist upon leaving this house alone."

On this, he whispered to her.

She answered: "You are not justified."

"I can explain all," was his reply. "I am ready to renounce credit,
character, all the world for you."

They passed out of the room before the unhappy listener could recover
the numbing influence of these deadly words.

But the next moment she started wildly up, and cried as one drowning
cries vaguely for help: "Ernest! oh, no--no! you cannot use me so!
Ernest--husband! Oh, mother! mother!"

She rose, and would have made for the door, but nature had been too
cruelly tried. At the first step she could no longer see anything; and
the next moment, swooning dead away, she fell back insensibl