nts of the night confused
themselves hideously with the trivial circumstances passing before her
eyes in the courtyard. She started with the sudden terror of the night
when old Mazey re-appeared to summon her out to the cart. She trembled
with the helpless confusion of the night when the veteran cast the eyes
of indulgence on her for the last time, and gave her a kiss on the cheek
at parting. The next minute she felt him help her into the cart, and
pat her on the back. The next, she heard him tell her in a confidential
whisper that, sitting or standing, she was as straight as a poplar
either way. Then there was a pause, in which nothing was said, and
nothing done; and then the driver took the reins in hand and mounted to
his place.

She roused herself at the parting moment and looked back. The last sight
she saw at St. Crux was old Mazey wagging his head in the courtyard,
with his fellow-profligates, the dogs, keeping time to him with their
tails. The last words she heard were the words in which the veteran paid
his farewell tribute to her charms:

"Burglary or no burglary," said old Mazey, "she's a fine-grown girl, if
ever there was a fine one yet. What a pity! what a pity!"

THE END OF THE SEVENTH SCENE.

BETWEEN THE SCENES.

PROGRESS OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.

I.

_From George Bartram to Admiral Bartram._

"London, April 3d, 1848.

"MY DEAR UNCLE--One hasty line, to inform you of a temporary obstacle,
which we neither of us anticipated when we took leave of each other at
St. Crux. While I was wasting the last days of the week at the Grange,
the Tyrrels must have been making their arrangements for leaving London.
I have just come from Portland Place. The house is shut up, and the
family (Miss Vanstone, of course, included) left England yesterday, to
pass the season in Paris.

"Pray don't let yourself be annoyed by this little check at starting.
It is of no serious importance whatever. I have got the address at which
the Tyrrels are living, and I mean to cross the Channel after them by
the mail to-night. I shall find my opportunity in Paris just as soon as
I could have found it in London. The grass shall not grow under my feet,
I promise you. For once in my life, I will take Time as fiercely by the
forelock as if I was the most impetuous man in England; and, rely on
it, the moment I know the result, you shall know the result, too.
Affectionately yours,

"GEORGE BARTRAM."

II.

_From Ge