ecessary a communication with Mr.
Parchmount, as executor to her uncle's will, relative to the transfer
of her portion; and she had asked Dalibard to accompany her thither; for
her pride shrank from receiving the lawyer in the shabby parlour of the
shabby lodging-house; she therefore, that evening, fixed the next day,
before noon, for the visit. A carriage was hired for the occasion, and
when it drove off, Mr. Fielden took his children a walk to Primrose
Hill, and called, as was agreed, on Mainwaring by the way.

The carriage had scarcely rattled fifty yards through the street when
Dalibard fixed his eyes with deep and solemn commiseration on Lucretia.
Hitherto, with masterly art, he had kept aloof from direct explanations
with his pupil; he knew that she would distrust no one like himself. The
plot was now ripened, and it was time for the main agent to conduct the
catastrophe. The look was so expressive that Lucretia felt a chill at
her heart, and could not, help exclaiming, "What has happened? You have
some terrible tidings to communicate!"

"I have indeed to say that which may, perhaps, cause you to hate me
forever; as we hate those who report our afflictions. I must endure
this; I have struggled long between my indignation and my compassion.
Rouse up your strong mind, and hear me. Mainwaring loves your sister!"

Lucretia uttered a cry that seemed scarcely to come from a human
voice,--

"No, no!" she gasped out; "do not tell me. I will hear no more; I will
not believe you!"

With an inexpressible pity and softness in his tone, this man, whose
career had given him such profound experience in the frailties of the
human heart, continued: "I do not ask you to believe me, Lucretia;
I would not now speak, if you had not the opportunity to convince
yourself. Even those with whom you live are false to you; at this moment
they have arranged all, for Mainwaring to steal, in your absence, to
your sister. In a few moments more he will be with her; if you yourself
would learn what passes between them, you have the power."

"I have--I have not--not--the courage; drive on--faster--faster."

Dalibard again was foiled. In this strange cowardice there was something
so terrible, yet so touching, that it became sublime,--it was the grasp
of a drowning soul at the last plank.

"You are right perhaps," he said, after a pause; and wisely forbearing
all taunt and resistance, he left the heart to its own workings.

Suddenly, Lucret