Colonel Sewell stood at the window of a small drawing-room he called “his own,” watching the details of loading a very cumbrous travelling-carriage which was drawn up before the door. Though the postilions were in the saddle, and all ready for a start, the process of putting up the luggage went on but slowly,—now a heavy imperial would be carried out, and after a while taken in again; dressing-boxes carefully stowed away would be disinterred to be searched for some missing article; bags, baskets, and boxes of every shape and sort came and went and came again; and although the two footmen who assisted these operations showed in various ways what length of training had taught them to submit to in the way of worry and caprice, the smart “maid,” who now and then appeared to give some order, displayed most unmistakable signs of ill-humor on her face. “Drat those dogs! I wish they were down the river!” cried she, of two yelping, barking Maltese terriers, which, with small bells jingling on their collars, made an uproar that was perfectly deafening.

“Well, Miss Morris, if it would oblige you—” said one of the tall footmen, as he caressed his whisker, and gave a very languishing look, more than enough, he thought, to supply the words wanting to his sentence.

“It would oblige me very much, Mr. George, to get away out of this horrid place. I never did—no, never—in all my life pass such a ten days.”

“We ain't a-going just yet, after all,” said footman number two, with a faint yawn.

“It's so like you, Mr. Breggis, to say something disagreeable,” said she, with a toss of her head.

“It's because it's true I say it, not because it's onpleasant, Miss Caroline.”

“I'm not Miss Caroline, at least from you, Mr. Breggis.”

“Ain't she haughty,—ain't she fierce?” But his colleague would not assent to this judgment, and looked at her with a longing admiration.

“There's her bell again,” cried the girl; “as sure as I live, she's rung forty times this morning;” and she hurried back to the house.

“Why do you think we're not off yet?” asked George.

“It's the way I heerd her talking that shows me,” replied the other. “Whenever she 's really about to leave a place she goes into them fits of laughing and crying and screaming one minute, and a-whimpering the next; and then she tells the people—as it were, unknownst to her—how she hated them all,—how stingy they was,—the shameful way they starved the servants, and such-like. There's some as won't let her into their houses by reason of them fits, for she'll plump out everything she knows of a family,—who ran away with the Misses, and why the second daughter went over to France.”

“You know her better than me, Breggis.”

“I do think I does; it's eight years I 've had of it. Eh, what's that,—was n't that a screech?” and as he spoke a wild shrill scream resounded through the house, followed by a rapid succession of notes that might either have been laughter or crying.

Sewell drew the curtain; and wheeling an arm-chair to the fireside, lit his cigar, and began to smoke.

The house was so small that the noises could be heard easily in every part of it; and for a time the rapid passage of persons overhead, and the voices of many speaking together, could be detected, and, above these, a wild shriek would now and then rise above all, and ring through the house. Sewell smoked on undisturbed; it was not easy to say that he so much as heard these sounds. His indolent attitude, and his seeming enjoyment of his cigar, indicated perfect composure; nor even when the door opened, and his wife entered the room, did he turn his head to see who it was.

“Can William have the pony to go into town?” asked she, in a half-submissive voice.

“For what?”

“To tell Dr. Tobin to come out; Lady Trafford is taken ill.”

“He can go on foot; I may want the pony.”

“She is alarmingly ill, I fear,—very violent spasms; and I don't think there is any time to be lost.”

“Nobody that makes such a row as that can be in any real danger.”

“She is in great pain, at all events.”

“Send one of her own people,—despatch one of the postboys,—do what you like, only don't bore me.”

She was turning to leave the room, when he called out, “I say, when the attack came on did she take the opportunity to tell you any pleasant little facts about yourself or your family?” She smiled faintly, and moved towards the door. “Can't you tell me, ma'am? Has this woman been condoling with you over your hard fate and your bad husband? or has she discovered how that 'dear boy' upstairs broke his head as well as his heart in your service?”

“She did ask me certainly if there was n't a great friendship between you and her son,” said she, with a tone of quiet disdain.

“And what did you reply?” said he, throwing one leg over the arm of the chair as he swung round to face her.

“I don't well remember. I may have said you liked him, or that he liked you. It was such a commonplace reply I made, I forget it.”

“And was that all that passed on the subject?”

“I think I'd better send for the doctor,” said she, and left the room before he could stop her, though that such was his intention was evident from the way he arose from his chair with a sudden spring.

“You shall hear more of this, Madam,—by Heaven, you shall!” muttered he, as he paced the room with rapid steps. “Who's that? Come in,” cried he, as a knock came to the door. “Oh, Balfour! is it you?”

“Yes; what the deuce is going on upstairs? Lady Trafford appears to have gone mad.”

“Indeed! how unpleasant!”

“Very unpleasant for your wife, I take it. She has been saying all sorts of unmannerly things to her this last hour,—things that, if she were n't out of her reason, she ought to be thrown out of the window for.”

“And why didn't you do so?”

“It was a liberty I couldn't think of taking in another man's house.”

“Lord love you, I'd have thought nothing of it! I'm the best-natured fellow breathing. What was it she said?”

“I don't know how I can repeat them.”

“Oh, I see, they reflect on me. My dear young friend, when you live to my age you will learn that anything can be said to anybody, provided it only be done by 'the third party.' Whatever the law rejects as evidence, assumes in social life the value of friendly admonition. Go on, and tell me who it is is in love with my wife.”

Cool as Mr. Cholmondely Balfour was, the tone of this demand staggered him.

“Art thou the man, Balfour?” said Sewell at last, staring at him with a mock frown.

“No, by Jove! I never presumed that far.”

“It's the sick fellow, then, is the culprit?”

“So his mother opines. She is an awful woman! I was sitting with your wife in the small drawing-room when she burst into the room and cried out, 'Mrs. Sewell, is your name Lucy? for, if so, my son has been rambling on about you this last hour in a wonderful way: he has told me about fifty times that he wants to see you before he dies; and now that the doctor says he is out of danger he never ceases talking of dying. I suppose you have no objection to the interview; at least they tell me you were constantly in his room before my arrival.”

“How did my wife take this?—what did she say?” asked Sewell, with an easy smile as he spoke.

“She said something about agitation or anxiety serving to excuse conduct which otherwise would be unpardonable; and she asked me to send her maid to her,—as I think, to get me away.”

“Of course you rang the bell and sat down again.”

“No; she gave me a look that said, I don't want you here, and I went; but the storm broke out again as I closed the door, and I heard Lady Trafford's voice raised to a scream as I came downstairs.”

“It all shows what I have said over and over again,” said Sewell, slowly, “that whenever a man has a grudge or a grievance against a woman, he ought always to get another woman to torture her. I 'll lay you fifty pounds Lady Traf-ford cut deeper into my wife's flesh by her two or three impertinences than if I had stormed myself into an apoplexy.”

“And don't you mean to turn her out of the house?”

“Turn whom out?”

“Lady Trafford, of course.”

“It's not so easily done, I suspect. I'll take to the long-boat myself one of these days, and leave her in command of the ship.”

“I tell you she's a dangerous, a very dangerous woman; she has been ransacking her son's desk, and has come upon all sorts of ugly memoranda,—sums lost at play, and reminders to meet bills, and such-like.”

“Yes; he was very unlucky of late,” said Sewell, coldly.

“And there was something like a will, too; at least there was a packet of trinkets tied up in a paper, which purported to be a will, but only bore the name Lucy.”

“How delicate! there's something touching in that, Balfour; isn't there?” said Sewell, with a grin. “How wonderfully you seem to have got up the case! You know the whole story. How did you manage it?”

“My fellow Paxley had it from Lady Trafford's maid. She told him that her mistress was determined to show all her son's papers to the Chief Baron, and blow you sky high.”

“That's awkward, certainly,” said Sewell, in deep thought. “It would be a devil of a conflagration if two such combustibles came together. I 'd rather she 'd fight it out with my mother.”

“Have you sent in your papers to the Horse Guards?”

“Yes; it's all finished. I am gazetted out, or I shall be on Tuesday.”

“I'm sorry for it. Not that it signifies much as to this registrarship. We never intended to relinquish our right to it, we mean to throw the case into Chancery, and we have one issue already to submit to trial at bar.”

“Who are we that are going to do all this?”

“The Crown,” said Balfour, haughtily.

“Ego et rex meus; that's the style, is it? Come now, Balfy, if you 're for a bet, I 'll back my horse, the Chief Baron, against the field. Give me sporting odds, for he 's aged, and must run in bandages besides.”

“That woman's coming here at this moment was most unlucky.”

“Of course it was; it would n't be my lot if it were anything else. I say,” cried he, starting up, and approaching the window, “what's up now?”

“She's going at last, I really believe.”

The sound of many and heavy footsteps was now heard descending the stairs slowly, and immediately after two men issued from the door, carrying young Trafford on a chair; his arms hung listlessly at his side, and his head was supported by his servant.

“I wonder whose doing is this? Has the doctor given his concurrence to it? How are they to get him into the coach, and what are they to do with him when he is there?” Such was the running commentary Balfour kept up all the time they were engaged in depositing the sick man in the carriage. Again a long pause of inaction ensued, and at last a tap came to the door of the room, and a servant inquired for Mr. Balfour.

“There!” cried Sewell, “it's your turn now. I only hope she 'll insist on your accompanying her to town.”

Balfour hurried out, and was seen soon afterwards escorting Lady Trafford to the carriage. Whether it was that she was not yet decided as to her departure, or that she had so many injunctions to give before going, the eventful moment was long delayed. She twice tried the seat in the carriage, once with cushions and then without. She next made Balfour try whether it might not be possible to have a sort of inclined plane to lie upon. At length she seemed overcome with her exertions, sent for a chair, and had a glass of water given her, to which her maid added certain drops from a phial.

“You will tell Colonel Sewell all I have said, Mr. Balfour,” said she, aloud, as she prepared to enter the carriage. “It would have been more agreeable to me had he given me the opportunity of saying it to himself, but his peculiar notions on the duties of a host have prevented this. As to Mrs. Sewell, I hope and believe I have sufficiently explained myself. She at least knows my sentiments as to what goes on in this house. Of course, sir, it is very agreeable to you. Men of pleasure are not persons to be overburdened with scruples,—least of all such scruples as interfere with self-indulgence. This sort of life is therefore charming; I leave you to all its delights, sir, and do not even warn you against its dangers. I will not promise the same discretion, however, when I go hence. I owe it to all mothers who have sons, Mr. Balfour,—I owe it to every family in which there is a name to be transmitted, and a fortune to be handed down, to declare what I have witnessed under this roof. No, Lionel,—no, my dear boy; nothing shall prevent my speaking out.” This was addressed to her son, who by a deep sigh seemed to protest against the sentiments he was not able to oppose. “It may suit Mr. Balfour's habits, or his tastes, to remain here,—with these I have nothing to do. The Duke of Bayswater might possibly think his heir could keep better company,—with that I have no concern; though when the matter comes to be discussed before me,—as it one day will, I have no doubt,—I shall hold myself free to state my opinion. Good-bye, sir; you will, perhaps, do me the favor to call at the Bilton; I shall remain till Saturday there; I have resolved not to leave Ireland till I see the Viceroy; and also have a meeting with this Judge, I forget his name, Lam—Lena—what is it? He is the Chief something, and easily found.”

A few very energetic words, uttered so low as to be inaudible to all but Balfour himself, closed this address.

“On my word of honor,—on my sacred word of honor,—Mr. Balfour,” said she, aloud as she placed one foot on the step, “Caroline saw it,—saw it with her own eyes. Don't forget all I have said; don't drop that envelope; be sure you come to see me.” And she was gone.

“Give me five minutes to recover myself,” said Balfour, as he entered Se well's room, and threw himself on a sofa; “such a 'breather' as that I have not had for many a day.”

“I heard a good deal of it,” said Sewell, coolly. “She screams, particularly when she means to be confidential; and all that about my wife must have reached the gardener in the shrubbery. Where is she off to?”

“To Dublin. She means to see his Excellency and the Chief Baron; she says she can't leave Ireland till she has unmasked all your wickedness.”

“She had better take a house on a lease then; did you tell her so?”

“I did nothing but listen,—I never interposed a word. Indeed, she won't let one speak.”

“I 'd give ten pounds to see her with the Chief Baron. It would be such a 'close thing.' All his neat sparring would go for nothing against her; for though she hits wide, she can stand a deal of punishment without feeling it.”

“She 'll do you mischief there.”

“She might,” said he, more thoughtfully. “I think I 'll set my mother at her; not that she 'll have a chance, but just for the fun of the thing. What 's the letter in your hand?”

“Oh, a commission she gave me. I was to distribute this amongst your household;” and he drew forth a banknote. “Twenty pounds! you have no objection to it, have you?”

“I know nothing about it; of course you never hinted such a thing to me;” and with this he arose and left the room.