ase,--her monstrous engagement.
She bound up all her faculties to harshness, and a stern resolution.
Her daughter had been deceitful, and she would now be ruthless. There
might be suffering, but had not she suffered? There might be sorrow,
but had not she sorrowed? There might be a contest, but had not she
ever been contesting? Sooner than that the tailor should reap the
fruit of her labours,--labours which had been commenced when she
first gave herself in marriage to that dark, dreadful man,--sooner
than that her child should make ignoble the blood which it had cost
her so much to ennoble, she would do deeds which should make even
the wickedness of her husband child's play in the world's esteem. It
was in this mood of mind that she went to meet her daughter at the
Saracen's Head.

She had taken fresh lodgings very suddenly,--in Keppel Street, near
Russell Square, a long way from Wyndham Street. She had asked Mr.
Goffe to recommend her a place, and he had sent her to an old lady
with whom he himself had lodged in his bachelor's days. Keppel
Street cannot be called fashionable, and Russell Square is not much
affected by the nobility. Nevertheless the house was superior in
all qualifications to that which she was now leaving, and the rent
was considerably higher. But the affairs of the Countess in regard
to money were in the ascendant; and Mr. Goffe did not scruple to
take for her a "genteel" suite of drawing-rooms,--two rooms with
folding-doors, that is,--with the bedrooms above, first-class
lodging-house attendance, and a garret for the lady's-maid. "And then
it will be quite close to Mrs. Bluestone," said Mr. Goffe, who knew
of that intimacy.

The drive in a glass coach home from the coach-yard to Keppel Street
was horrible to Lady Anna. Not a word was spoken, as Sarah, the
lady's-maid, sat with them in the carriage. Once or twice the poor
girl tried to get hold of her mother's hand, in order that she might
entice something of a caress. But the Countess would admit of no such
softness, and at last withdrew her hand roughly. "Oh mamma!" said
Lady Anna, unable to suppress her dismay. But the Countess said never
a word. Sarah, the lady's-maid, began to think that there must be a
second lover. "Is this Wyndham Street?" said Lady Anna when the coach
stopped.

"No, my dear;--this is not Wyndham Street. I have taken another
abode. This is where we are to live. If you will get out I will
follow you, and Sarah will look to