th of persons and of
right and wrong were clouded by the excitement of drinking and dancing,
and also little Fanny was very much changed and worn by the fever and
agitation, and passion and despair, which the past three weeks had
poured upon the head of that little victim. Borne down was the head now,
and very pale and wan the face; and many and many a time the sad eyes
had looked into the postman's, as he came to the Inn, and the sickened
heart had sunk as he passed away. When Mr. Costigan's accident occurred,
Fanny was rather glad to have an opportunity of being useful and doing
something kind--something that would make her forget her own little
sorrows perhaps: she felt she bore them better whilst she did her duty,
though I dare say many a tear dropped into the old Irishman's gruel. Ah,
me! stir the gruel well, and have courage, little Fanny! If everybody
who has suffered from your complaint were to die of it straightway, what
a fine year the undertakers would have!

Whether from compassion for his only patient, or delight in his society,
Mr. Huxter found now occasion to visit Costigan two or three times in
the day at least, and if any of the members of the porter's lodge family
were not in attendance on the General, the young doctor was sure to have
some particular directions to address to those at their own place of
habitation. He was a kind fellow; he made or purchased toys for the
children; he brought them apples and brandy-balls; he brought a mask and
frightened them with it, and caused a smile upon the face of pale Fanny.
He called Mrs. Bolton Mrs. B., and was very intimate, familiar, and
facetious with that lady, quite different from that "aughty, artless
beast," as Mrs. Bolton now denominated a certain young gentleman of our
acquaintance, and whom she now vowed she never could abear.

It was from this lady, who was very free in her conversation, that
Huxter presently learnt what was the illness which was evidently preying
upon little Fan, and what had been Pen's behaviour regarding her.
Mrs. Bolton's account of the transaction was not, it may be imagined,
entirely an impartial narrative. One would have thought from her story
that the young gentleman had employed a course of the most persevering
and flagitious artifices to win the girl's heart, had broken the most
solemn promises made to her and was a wretch to be hated and chastised
by every champion of woman. Huxter, in his present frame of mind
respecting