"Calumny is the pastime of little minds, and the venomed shaft of base ones."

The first week of the count's confinement was rendered in some degree tolerable by the daily visits of Mrs. Robson, who, having brought his drawing materials, enabled him, through the means of the always punctual printseller, to purchase some civility from the brutal and hardened people who were his keepers. After the good woman had performed her diurnal kindness, Thaddeus did not suffer his eyes to turn one moment on the dismal loneliness of his abject prison, but took up his pencil to accomplish its daily task, and when done, he opened some one of his books, which had also been brought to him, and so sought to beguile his almost hopeless hours,—hopeless with regard to any human hope of ever re-passing those incarcerating walls. For who was there but those who had put him there who could now know even of his existence?

The elasticity and pressing enterprise of soul inherent in worth renders; no calamity so difficult to be borne as that which betters its best years and most active virtues under the lock of any captivity. Thaddeus felt this benumbing effect in every pulse of his ardent and energetic heart. He retraced all that he had been. He looked on what he was. Though he had reaped glory when a boy, his "noon of manhood," his evening sun, was to waste its light and set in an English prison.

At short and distant intervals such melancholy reveries gave place to the pitying image of Mary Beaufort. It sometimes visited him in the day—it always was his companion during the night. He courted her lovely ideal as a spell that for a while stole him from painful reflections. With an entranced soul he recalled every lineament of her angel—like face, every tender sympathy of that gentle voice which had hurried him into the rashness of touching her hand. One moment he pressed her gold chain closer to his heart, almost believing what Lady Tinemouth had insinuated; the next, he would sigh over his credulity, and return with despondent though equally intense love to the contemplation of her virtues, independent of himself.

The more he meditated on the purity of her manners, the elevated principles to which he could trace her actions, and, above all, on the benevolent confidence with which she had ever treated him (a man contemned by one part of her acquaintance, and merely received on trust by the remainder), the more he found reasons to regard that character with his grateful admiration. When he drew a comparison between Miss Beaufort and most women of the same quality whom he had seen in England and in other countries, he contemplated with delighted wonder that spotless mind which, having passed through the various ordeals annexed to wealth and fashion, still bore itself uncontaminated. She was beautiful, and she did not regard it; she was accomplished, but she did not attempt a display; what she acquired from education, the graces had so incorporated with her native intelligence, that the perfection of her character seemed to have been stamped at once by the beneficent hand of Providence.

Never were her numberless attractions so fascinating to Thaddeus as when he witnessed the generous eagerness with which, forgetful of her own almost unparalleled talents, she pointed out merit and dispensed applause to the deserving. Miss Beaufort's nature was gentle and benevolent; but it was likewise distinguishing and animated. Whilst the count saw that the urbanity of her disposition made her politeness universal, he perceived that neither rank, riches nor splendor, when alone, could extract from her bosom one spark of that lambet flame which streamed from her heart, like fire to the sun, towards the united glory of genius and virtue.

He dwelt on her lovely, unsophisticated character with an enthusiasm bordering on idolatry. He recollected that she had been educated by the mother of Pembroke Somerset; and turning from the double remembrance with a sigh fraught with all the bitterness and sweetness of love, he acknowledged how much wisdom (which includes virtue) gives spirit and immortality to beauty. "Yes," cried he, "it is the fragrance of the flower, which lives after the bloom is withered."

From such reflections of various hues Thaddeus was one evening awakened by the entrance of the chief jailer into his cell. His was an unusual visit. He presented a sealed packet to his prisoner, saying he brought it from a stranger, who, having paid the debts and costs for which he was confined, and all the prison dues, had immediately gone away, leaving that packet to be instantly delivered into the hand of Mr. Constantine.

While Thaddeus, scarcely crediting the information, was hastily opening the packet, hoping it might throw some light on his benefactor, the jailer civilly withdrew. But the breaking of the seal discovered a blank cover only, save these words, in a handwriting unknown to him—"You are free!"—and bank of England notes to the amount of fifty pounds.

Overwhelmed with surprise, gratitude to Heaven, and to this generous unknown, he sank down into his solitary chair, and tried to conjecture who could have acted the part of such a friend, and yet be so careful to conceal that act of friendship.

He had seen sufficient proofs of a heedless want of benevolence in Miss Euphemia Dundas to lead him to suppose that she could not be so munificent, and solicitous of secrecy. Besides, how could she have learned his situation? He thought it was impossible; and that impossibility compelled an erratic hope of his present liberty having sprung from the goodness of Miss Beaufort to pass by him with a painful swiftness.

"Alas!" cried he, starting from his chair, "it is the indefatigable spirit of Lady Sara Ross that I recognize in this deed! The generous but unhappy interest which she yet takes in my fate has discovered my last misfortune, and thus she seeks to relieve me!"

The moment he conceived this idea, he believed it; and taking up a pen, with a grateful though disturbed soul he addressed to her the following guarded note:—

"TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE LADY SARA ROSS.

"An unfortunate exile, who is already overpowered by a sense of not having deserved the notice which Lady Sara Ross has deigned to take of his misfortunes, was this day liberated from prison in a manner so generous and delicate, that he can ascribe the act to no other than the noble heart of her ladyship.

"The object of this bounty, bending under a weight of obligations which he cannot repay, begs permission to re-enclose the bills which Lady Sara's agent transmitted to him; but as the deed which procures his freedom cannot be recalled, with the most grateful emotions he accepts that new instance of her ladyship's goodness."

Thaddeus was on the point of asking one of the turnkeys to send him some trusty person to take this letter to St. James Place, when, recollecting the impropriety of making any inmate of Newgate his messenger to Lady Sara, he was determining to remove immediately to St. Martin's Lane, and thence dispatch his packet to his generous friend, when Mrs. Robson herself was announced by his turnkey, who, as customary, disappeared the moment he had let her in. She hastened forward to him with an animated countenance, and exclaimed, before he had time to speak, "Dear sir, I have seen a dear, sweet lady, who has promised me not to sleep till you are out of this horrid place!"

The suspicions of the count, that his benefactress was indeed Lady Sara Ross, were now confirmed. Seating his warmhearted landlady in the only chair his apartment contained, to satisfy her humility, he took his station on the table, and then said: "The lady has already fulfilled her engagement. I am free, and I only wait for a hackney- coach—which I shall send for immediately—to take me back to your kind home."

At this assurance the delighted Mrs. Robson, crying and laughing by turns, did not cease her ejaculations of joy until the turnkey, whom he had recalled to give the order for the coach, returned to say that it was in readiness.

He took up his late prisoner's small portmanteau, with the drawing- materials, &c., which had been brought to him during his incarceration; and Thaddeus, with a feeling as if a band of iron had been taken from his soul, passed through the door of his cell; and when he reached the greater portal of Newgate, where the coach stood, he gave the turnkey a liberal douceur, and handing Mrs. Robson into the vehicle, stepped in after her, full of thankfulness to Heaven for again being permitted to taste the wholesome breeze of a free atmosphere.

They drove quickly on, and from the fullness of his thoughts, little passed between the count and his happy companion till they alighted at her door and he had re-entered his humble apartment. But so true is it that advantages are only appreciated by comparison, when he looked around, he considered it a palace of luxury, compared to the stifling dungeon he had left. "Ah!" cried Mrs. Robson, pointing to a chair, "there is the seat in which that dear lady sat—sweet creature! I If I had known I durst believe all she promised, I would have fallen on my knees and kissed her feet for bringing back your dear self!"

"I thank you, my revered friend!" replied Thaddeus, with a grateful smile and a tear at so ardent a demonstration of her maternal affection. "But where is little Nanny, that I may shake hands with her?" It being yet early in the evening, he was also anxious, before the probable retiring time of Lady Sara into her dressing-room to prepare for dinner should elapse, to dispatch his letter to her; and he inquired of his still rejoicing landlady "whether she could find him a safe porter to take a small packet of importance to St. James's Place, and wait for an answer?"

The good woman instantly replied that "Mrs. Watts, her neighbor, had a nephew at present lodging with her, a steady man, recently made one of the grooms in the King's Mews, and as this was the customary hour of his return from the stables, she was sure he would be glad to do the service." While the count was sealing his letter, Mrs Robson had executed her commission, and reentered with young Watts. He respectfully received his instructions from Thaddeus, and withdrew to perform the duty.

Nanny had also appeared, and welcomed her grandmother's beloved lodger with all those artless and animated expressions of joy which are inseparable from a good and unsophisticated heart.

The distance between the royal precincts of St. James's and the unostentatious environs of St. Martin's church being very short, in less than half an hour the count's messenger returned with the wished-for reply. It was with pain that he opened it, for he saw, by the state of the paper, that it had been blotted with tears. He hurriedly took out the re-enclosed bills, with a flushed cheek, and read as follows:—

"I cannot be mistaken in recognizing the proud and high-minded Constantine in the lines I hold in my hand. Could anything have imparted to me more comfort than your generous belief that there is indeed some virtue left in my wretched and repentant heart, it would have arisen from the consciousness of having been the happy person who succored you in your distress. But no: that enjoyment was beyond my deserving. The bliss of being the lightener of your sorrows was reserved by Heaven for a less criminal creature. I did not even know that you were in prison. Since our dreadful parting, I have never dared to inquire after you; and much as it might console me to serve one so truly valued, I will not insult your nice honor by offering any further instance of my friendship than what will evince my soul's gratitude to your prayers and my acquiescence with the commands of duty.

"My husband is here, without perceiving the ravages which misery and remorse have made in my unhappy heart. Time, perhaps, may render me less unworthy of his tenderness; at present, I detest myself.

"I return the bills; you may safely use them, for they never were mine.

"S. R."

The noble heart of Thaddeus bled over every line of this letter. He saw that it bore the stamp of truth which did not leave him a moment in doubt that he owed his release to some other hand. Whilst he folded it up, his grateful suspicions next lighted on Lady Tinemouth. He had received one short letter from her since her departure, mentioning Sophia's stay in town to meet Mr. Montresor, and Miss Beaufort's detention there, on account of Miss Dorothy's accident, and closing with the intelligence of her own arrival at the Wolds. He was struck with the idea that, as he had delayed answering this letter in consequence of his late embarrassment, she must have made inquiries after him; that probably Miss Egerton was the lady who had visited Mrs. Robson, and finding the information true had executed the countess's commission to obtain his release.

According to these suppositions, he questioned his landlady about the appearance of the lady who had called. Mrs. Rob-son replied, "She was of an elegant height, but so wrapped up I could neither see her face nor her figure, though I am certain from the softness of her voice, she must be both young and handsome. Sweet creature! I am sure she wept two or three times. Besides, she is the most charitable soul alive, next to you, sir; for she gave me a purse with twenty guineas, and she told me she knew your honor's English friends."

This narration substantiating his hope of Lady Tinemouth's being his benefactress, that the kind Sophia was her agent, and the gentleman who defrayed the debt Mr. Montresor, he felt easier under an obligation which a mysterious liberation would have doubled. He knew the countess's maternal love for him. To reject her present benefaction, in any part, would be to sacrifice gratitude to an excessive and haughty delicacy. Convinced that nothing can be great that it is great to despise, he no longer hesitated to accept Lady Tinemouth's bounty, but smothered in his breast the embers of a proud and repulsive fire, which, having burst forth in the first hour of his misfortunes, was ever ready to consume any attempt that might oppress him with the weight of obligation.

Being exhausted by the events of the day, he retired at an early hour to his grateful devotions and to his pillow, where he found that repose which he had sought in vain within the gloomy and (he supposed) ever-sealed walls of his prison.

In the morning he was awakened by the light footsteps of his pretty waiting-maid entering the front room. His chamber-door being open, he asked her what the hour was? She replied nine o'clock; adding that she had brought a letter, which one of the waiters from Slaughter's Coffee-house had just left, with information that he did so by the orders of a footman in a rich livery.

Thaddeus desired that it might be given to him. The child obeyed, and quitted the room. He saw that the superscription was in Miss Dundas's hand; and opening it with pleasure,—because everything interested him which came from the house which contained Mary Beaufort,—to his amazement and consternation he read the following accusations:—

"To MR. CONSTANTINE.

"Sir,

"By a miraculous circumstance yesterday morning, your deep and daring plan of villany has been discovered to Lady D—-and myself. The deluded victim, whom your arts and falsehoods would have seduced to dishonor her family by connecting herself with a vagabond, has at length seen through her error, and now detests you as much as ever your insufferable presumption could have hoped she would distinguish you with her regard. Thanks be to Heaven! you are completely exposed. This young woman of fashion (whose name I will not trust in the same page with yours) has made a full confession of your vile seductions, of her own reprehensible weakness, in ever having deigned to listen to so low a creature. She desires me to assure you that she hates you, and commands you never again to attempt the insolence of appearing in her sight. Indeed this is the language of every soul in this house, Lady D——, Miss D——, S——, Miss B—-, besides that of

"D——D——.

"HARLEY STREET."

Thaddeus read this ridiculous letter twice before he could perfectly comprehend its meaning. In a paroxysm of indignation at the base subterfuge under which he did not doubt Euphemia had screened some accidental discovery of her absurd passion, he hastily threw on his clothes, and determined, though in defiance of Miss Dundas's mandates, to fly to Harley Street, and clear himself in the eyes of Miss Beaufort and her venerable aunt.

Having flown rather than walked, he arrived in sight of Lady Dundas's house just as a coachful of her ladyship's maids and packages drove from the door. Hurrying up the step, he asked the porter if Miss Dorothy Somerset were at home.

"No," replied the man; "she and Miss Beaufort, with Miss Dundas and Mr. Somerset, went out of town this morning by eight o'clock; and my lady and Miss Euphemia, about an hour ago, set off for Scotland, where they mean to stay all the summer."

At this information, which seemed to be the sealing of his condemnation with Mary, the heart of Thaddeus was pierced to the core. Unacquainted until this moment with the torments attending the knowledge of being calumniated, he could scarcely subdue the tempest in his breast, when forced to receive the conviction that the woman he loved above all the world now regarded him as not merely a villain, but the meanest of villains.

He returned home indignant and agitated. The probability that Pembroke Somerset had listened to the falsehood of Euphemia, without suggesting one word in defence of him who once was his friend, inflicted a pang more deadly than the rest. Shutting himself within his apartment, tossed and tortured in soul, he traversed the room. First one idea occurred and then another, until he resolved to seek redress from the advice of Lady Tinemouth. With this determination he descended the stairs, and telling Mrs. Robson he should leave London the ensuing day for Lincolnshire, begged her not to be uneasy on his account, as he went on business, and would return in a few days. The good woman almost wept at this intelligence, and prayed Heaven to guard him wherever he went.

Next morning, having risen at an early hour, he was collecting his few articles of wardrobe to put into his cloak-bag for his meditated short visit, when going to open one of the top drawers in his chamber, he found it sealed, and observed on the black wax the impress of an eagle. It was a large seal. Hardly crediting his eyes, it appeared to be the armorial eagle of Poland, surmounted by its regal crown. Nay, it seemed an impression of the very seal which had belonged to his royal ancestor, John Sobieski, and which was appended to the watch of his grandfather when he was robbed of it on his first arrival in England.

Thaddeus, in a wondering surprise, immediately rang the bell, and Mrs. Robson herself came up stairs. He hurriedly but gently inquired "how the drawer became not only locked as he had left it, but fastened with such a seal?"

Mrs. Robson did not perceive his agitation, and simply replied, "While his honor was in that horrid place, and after the attempt of Mr. Jackson to get possession of his property, she had considered it right to so secure the drawer, which she believed contained his most valuable pictures, and the like. So, having no impression of her own big enough, she went and bought a bunch of tarnished copper-seals she had seen hanging in the window of a huckster's shop at the corner of an ally hard by, one of them appearing about the size she wanted. The woman of the shop told her she had found them at the bottom of a tub of old iron, sold to her a while ago by a dustman; and as, to be sure, they were damaged and very dirty, she would not ask more than a couple of shillings for the lot, and would be glad to get rid of them!"

"So, sir," continued Mrs. Robson, with a pleased look, "I gave the money, and hastened home as fast as I could, and with Mrs. Watts by my side to witness it, you see I made all safe which I thought you most cared for."

"You are very thoughtful for me, kindest of women!" returned Thaddeus, with grateful energy; "but let me see the seals—for it is possible I may recognize in the one of this impression, indeed, a relic precious to my memory!"

Mrs. Robson put her hand into her pocket, and instantly gave them to him. There were three, one large, two small, and strung together by a leather thong. The former massive gold chain was no longer their link, and the rust from the iron had clouded the setting; but a glance told Sobieski they were his! He pressed them to his heart, whilst with glistening eyes he turned away to conceal his emotion. His sensible landlady comprehended there was something more than she knew of in the recognition (he never having told her of the loss of his watch, when he had saved her little grandchild from the plunging horses in the King's Mews;) and from her native delicacy not to intrude on his feelings, she gently withdrew unobserved, and left him alone.

About half an hour afterwards, when she saw her beloved lodger depart in the stage-coach that called to take him up, her eyes followed the wheels down the lane with renewed blessings.

His long journey passed not more in melancholy reveries against the disappointing characters he had met in revered England than in affectionate anticipations of the moment in which he should pour out his gratitude to the maternal tenderness of Lady Tinemouth, and learn from her ingenuous lips how to efface from the minds of Miss Dorothy Somerset and her angel-like niece the representations, so dishonoring, torturing, and false, which had been heaped upon him by the calumnies of the family in Harley Street.