rtified at the intelligence which overthrew my hopes and castle
buildings, I seized my hat, descended the stairs, and quitted the house;
in my hurry and confusion quite forgetting to call the servants to her
ladyship's assistance. Fortunately I perceived the Misses Fairfax close
to the iron railing of the garden. I crossed the road, wished them
good-bye, and told them that I thought Lady Maelstrom looked very ill,
and they had better go in to her. I then threw myself into the first
hackney-coach, and drove home. I found Timothy had arrived before me,
and I narrated all that had passed.

"You will never be able to go there again," observed Timothy, "and
depend upon it, she will be your enemy through life. I wish you had not
said anything to her."

"What is done cannot be undone; but recollect, that if she can talk, I
can talk also."

"Will she not be afraid?"

"Yes, openly, she will; and open attacks can be parried."

"Very true."

"But it will be as well to pacify her, if I can. I will write to her."
I sat down and wrote as follows:--

"My dear Lady Maelstrom,--I am so astonished and alarmed at the
situation I put you in, by my impertinence and folly, that I hardly
know how to apologise. The fact is, that looking over some of my
father's old letters, I found many from Warrender, in which he spoke
of an affair with a young lady, and I read the name as your maiden
name, and also discovered where the offspring was to be found. On
re-examination, for your innocence was too evident at our meeting to
admit of a doubt, I find that the name, although something like yours,
is _spelt very differently_, and that I must have been led into an
unpardonable error. What can I say except that I throw myself on your
mercy? I dare not appear before you again. I leave town to-morrow;
but if you can pardon my folly and impertinence, and allow me to pay
my respects when London is full again, and time shall have softened
down your just anger, write me one line to that effect, and you will
relieve the burdened conscience of--

"Yours most truly,--

"J. Newland."

"There, Tim," said I, as I finished reading it over, "take that as a sop
to the old Cerberus. She may think it prudent, as I have talked of
letters, to believe me and make friends. I will not trust her,
nevertheless."

Tim went away, and very soon returned with an answer.

"You are a foolish mad-cap, and I ought to shut