heard the itinerant
merchant cry out, "Mr. Linden, Mr. Linden!" and looking back, he beheld
the honest Brown putting his shaggy pony at full speed, in order to
overtake him; so he pulled up.

"Well, Mr. Brown, what do you want?"

"Why, you see, sir, you gave me no exact answer about the plum-colored
velvet inexpressibles," said Mr. Brown.

CHAPTER LII.

Are we contemned?--The Double Marriage.

It was dusk when Clarence arrived at the very same inn at which, more
than five years ago, he had assumed his present name. As he recalled
the note addressed to him, and the sum (his whole fortune) which it
contained, he could not help smiling at the change his lot had since
then undergone; but the smile soon withered when he thought of the kind
and paternal hand from which that change had proceeded, and knew that
his gratitude was no longer availing, and that that hand, in pouring its
last favours upon him, had become cold. He was ushered into No. 4, and
left to his meditations till bed-time.

The next day he recommenced his journey. Westborough Park, was, though
in another county, within a short ride of W----; but, as he approached
it, the character of the scenery became essentially changed. Bare, bold,
and meagre, the features of the country bore somewhat of a Scottish
character. On the right side of the road was a precipitous and
perilous descent, and some workmen were placing posts along a path for
foot-passengers on that side nearest the carriage-road, probably with
a view to preserve unwary coachmen or equestrians from the dangerous
vicinity of the descent, which a dark night might cause them to incur.
As Clarence looked idly on the workmen, and painfully on the crumbling
and fearful descent I have described, he little thought that that spot
would, a few years after, become the scene of a catastrophe affecting
in the most powerful degree the interests of his future life. Our young
traveller put up his horse at a small inn, bearing the Westborough arms,
and situated at a short distance from the park gates. Now that he was so
near his mistress--now that less than an hour, nay, than the fourth part
of an hour, might place him before her, and decide his fate--his heart,
which had hitherto sustained him, grew faint, and presented, first
fear, then anxiety, and, at last, despondency to his imagination and
forebodings.

"At all events," said he, "I will see her alone before I will confer
with her artful and proud