hich the Baronet
wrote a note of some length to her Ladyship, to which she as promptly
replied; a second, and even a third interchange of correspondence
followed. The dinner-party appointed for that day was put off; a certain
ominous kind of silence pervaded the house. The few privileged visitors
were denied admission. Mr. Proctor, Sir Stafford's man, wore a look of
more than common seriousness. Mademoiselle Celestine's glances revealed
a haughty sense of triumph. Even the humbler menials appeared to feel
that something had occurred, and betrayed in their anxious faces some
resemblance to that vague sense of half-curiosity, half-terror, the
passengers of a steamboat experience when an accident, of whose nature
they know nothing, has occurred to the machinery.

Their doubts and suspicions assumed more shape when the order came that
Sir Stafford would dine in the library, and her Ladyship in her own
room, George Onslow alone appearing in the dining-room. There was an air
of melancholy over everything, the silence deepening as night came on.
Servants went noiselessly to and fro, drew the curtains, and closed
the doors with a half-stealthy gesture, and seemed as though fearful of
awakening some slumbering outbreak of passion.

We neither have, nor desire to have, secrets from our readers. We will
therefore proceed to Sir Stafford's dressing-room, where the old Baronet
sat moodily over the fire, his anxious features and sorrow-struck
expression showing the ravages even a few hours of suffering had
inflicted. His table was littered with papers, parchments, and other
formidable-looking documents. Some letters lay sealed here, others were
half-written there; everything about him showed the conflict of doubt
and indecision that was going on within his mind; and truly a most
painful struggle was maintained there.

For some time back he had seen with displeasure the course of
extravagance and waste of all his household. He had observed the habits
of reckless expense with which his establishment was maintained; but,
possessing a very ample fortune, and feeling that probably some change
would be made with the coming summer, he had forborne to advert to
it, and endured with what patience he could a mode of life whose very
display was distasteful to him. Now, however, a more serious cause for
anxiety presented itself, in the class of intimates admitted by Lady
Hester to her society. Of the foreigners he knew comparatively
little; b