MARY WELLS by order went down, in a loose morning wrapper her mistress had given her, and dined in the servants' hall. She was welcomed with a sort of shout, half ironical; and the chief butler said,

“Glad to see you come back to us, Miss Wells.”

“The same to you, sir,” said Mary, with more pertness than logic; “which I'm only come to take leave, for to-morrow I go to London, on business.”

“La! what's the business, I wonder?” inquired a house-maid, irreverentially.

“Well, my business is not your business, Jane. However, if you want to know, I'm going to be married.”

“And none too soon,” whispered the kitchen-maid to a footman.

“Speak up, my dear,” said Mary. “There's nothing more vulgarer than whispering in company.”

“I said, 'What will Bill Drake say to that?'”

“Bill Drake will say he was a goose not to make up his mind quicker. This will learn him beauty won't wait for no man. If he cries when I am gone, you lend him your apron to wipe his eyes, and tell him women can't abide shilly-shallying men.”

“That's a hexcellent sentiment,” said John the footman, “and a solemn warning it is—”

“To all such as footmen be,” said Mary.

“We writes it in the fly-leaf of our Bibles accordingly,” said John.

“No, my man, write it somewhere where you'll have a chance to read it.”

This caused a laugh; and when it was over, the butler, who did not feel strong enough to chaff a lady of this caliber, inquired obsequiously whether he might venture to ask who was the happy stranger to carry off such a prize.

“A civil question deserves a civil answer, Mr. Wright,” said Mary. “It is a sea-faring man, the mate of a ship. He have known me a few years longer than any man in these parts. Whenever he comes home from a voyage he tells me what he has made, and asks me to marry him. I have said 'No' so many times I'm sick and tired; so I have said 'Yes' for once in a way. Changes are lightsome, you know.”

Thus airily did Mary Wells communicate her prospects, and next morning early was driven to the station; a cart had gone before with her luggage, which tormented the female servants terribly; for, instead of the droll little servant's box, covered with paper, she had a large lady's box, filled with linen and clothes by the liberality of Lady Bassett, and a covered basket, and an old carpet-bag, with some minor packages of an unintelligible character. Nor did she make any secret that she had money in both pockets; indeed, she flaunted some notes before the groom, and told him none but her lady knew all she had done for Sir Charles. “But,” said she, “he is grateful, you see, and so is she.”

She went off in the train, as gay as a lark; but she was no sooner out of sight than her face changed its whole expression, and she went up to London very grave and thoughtful.

The traveling carriage was ordered at ten o'clock next day, and packed as for a journey.

Lady Bassett took her housekeeper with her to the asylum.

She had an interview with Sir Charles, and told him what Mr. Bassett had done, and the construction Mary Wells had put on it.

Sir Charles turned pale with rage, and said he could no longer play the patient game. He must bribe a keeper, make his escape, and kill that villain.

Lady Bassett was alarmed, and calmed it down.

“It was only a servant's construction, and she might be wrong; but it frightened me terribly; and I fear it is the beginning of a series of annoyances and encroachments; and I have lost Mr. Angelo; he has gone to Italy. Even Mary Wells left me this morning to be married. I think I know a way to turn all this against Mr. Bassett; but I will not say it, because I want to hear what you advise, dearest.”

Sir Charles did not leave her long in doubt. He said, “There is but one way; you must leave Huntercombe, and put yourself out of that miscreant's way until our child is born.”

“That would not grieve me,” said Lady Bassett. “The place is odious to me, now you are not there. But what would censorious people say?”

“What could they say, except that you obeyed your husband?”

“Is it a command, then, dearest?”

“It is a command; and, although you are free, and I am a prisoner—although you are still an ornament to society, and I pass for an outcast, still I expect you to obey me when I assume a husband's authority. I have not taken the command of you quite so much as you used to say I must; but on this occasion I do. You will leave Huntercombe, and avoid that caitiff until our child is born.”

“That ends all discussion,” said Lady Bassett. “Oh, Charles, my only regret is that it costs me nothing to obey you. But when did it ever? My king!”

He had ordered her to do the very thing she wished to do.

She now gave her housekeeper minute instructions, settled the board wages of the whole establishment, and sent her home in the carriage, retaining her own boxes and packages at the inn.

Richard Bassett soon found out that Lady Bassett had left Huntercombe. He called on Wheeler and told him. Wheeler suggested she had gone to be near her husband.

“No,” said Bassett, “she has joined her lover. I wonder at our simplicity in believing that fellow was gone to Italy.”

“This is rich,” said Wheeler. “A week ago she was guilty, and a Machiavel in petticoats; for why? she had quarreled with her Angelo, and packed him off to Italy. Now she is guilty; and why? because he is not gone to Italy—not that you know whether he is or not. You reason like a mule. As for me, I believe none of this nonsense—till you find them together.”

“And that is just what I mean to do.”

“We shall see.”

“You will see.”

Very soon after this a country gentleman met Wheeler on market-day, and drew him aside to ask him a question. “Do you advise Mr. Richard Bassett still?”

“Yes.”

“Did you set him to trespass on Lady Bassett's lawn, and frighten her with a great dog in the present state of her health?”

“Heaven forbid! This is the first I've heard of such a thing.”

“I am glad to hear you say that, Tom Wheeler. There, read that. Your client deserves to be flogged out of the county, sir.” And he pulled a printed paper out of his pocket. It was dated from the Royal Hotel, Bath, and had been printed with blanks, as follows; but a lady's hand had filled in the dates.

“On the day —— of ——, while I was walking alone in my garden, Mr. Richard Bassett, the person who has bereaved me by violence of my protector, came, without leave, into my private grounds, and brought a very large dog; it ran to me, and frightened me so that I nearly fainted with alarm. Mr. Bassett was aware of my condition. Next day I consulted my husband, and he ordered me to leave Huntercombe Hall, and put myself beyond the reach of trespassers and outrage.

“One motive has governed Mr. Bassett in all his acts, from his anonymous letter to me before my marriage—which I keep for your inspection, together with the proofs that he wrote it—to the barbarous seizure of my husband upon certificates purchased beforehand, and this last act of violence, which has driven me from the county for a time.

“Sir Charles and I have often been your hosts and your guests; we now ask you to watch our property and our legal rights, so long as through injustice and cruelty my husband is a prisoner, his wife a fugitive.”

“There,” said the gentleman, “these papers are going all round the county.”

Wheeler was most indignant, and said he had never been consulted, and had never advised a trespass. He begged a loan of the paper, and took it to Bassett's that very same afternoon.

“So you have been acting without advice,” said he, angrily; “and a fine mess you have made of it.” And, though not much given to violent anger, he dashed the paper down on the table, and hurt his hand a little. Anger must be paid for, like other luxuries.

Bassett read it, and was staggered a moment; but he soon recovered himself, and said, “What is the foolish woman talking about?”

He then took a sheet of paper, and said he would soon give her a Roland for an Oliver.

“Ay,” said Wheeler, grimly, “let us see how you will put down the foolish woman. I'll smoke a cigar in the garden, and recover my temper.”

Richard Bassett's retort ran thus:

“I never wrote an anonymous letter in my life; and if I put restraint upon Sir Charles, it was done to protect the estate. Experienced physicians represented him homicidal and suicidal; and I protected both Lady Bassett and himself by the act she has interpreted so harshly.

“As for her last grievance, it is imaginary. My dog is gentle as a lamb. I did not foresee Lady Bassett would be there, nor that the poor dog would run and welcome her. She is playing a comedy: the real truth is, a gentleman had left Huntercombe whose company is necessary to her. She has gone to join him, and thrown the blame very adroitly upon

“RICHARD BASSETT.”

When he had written this Bassett ordered his dog-cart.

Wheeler came in, read the letter, and said the last suggestion in it was a libel, and an indictable one into the bargain.

“What, if it is true—true to the letter?”

“Even then you would not be safe, unless you could prove it by disinterested witnesses.”

“Well, if I cannot, I consent to cut this sentence out. Excuse me one minute, I must put a few things in my carpetbag.”

“What! going away?”

“Of course I am.”

“Better give me your address, then, in case anything turns up.”

“If you were as sharp as you pass for you would know my address—Royal Hotel, Bath, to be sure.”

He left Wheeler staring, and was back in five minutes with his carpet-bag and wraps.

“Wouldn't to-morrow morning do for this wild-goose chase?” asked Wheeler.

“No,” said Richard. “I'm not such a fool. Catch me losing twelve hours. In that twelve hours they would shift their quarters. It is always so when a fool delays. I shall breakfast at the Royal Hotel, Bath.”

The dog-cart came to the door as he spoke, and he rattled off to the railway.

He managed to get to the Royal Hotel, Bath, at 7 A.M., took a warm bath instead of bed, and then ordered breakfast; asked to see the visitors' book, and wrote a false name; turned the leaves, and, to his delight, saw Lady Bassett's name.

But he could not find Mr. Angelo's name in the book.

He got hold of Boots, and feed him liberally, then asked him if there was a handsome young parson there—very dark.

Boots could not say there was.

Then Bassett made up his mind that Angelo was at another hotel, or perhaps in lodgings, out of prudence.

“Lady Bassett here still?” said he.

Boots was not very sure; would inquire at the bar. Did inquire, and brought him word Lady Bassett had left for London yesterday morning.

Bassett ground his teeth with vexation.

No train to London for an hour and a half. He took a stroll through the town to fill up the time.

How often, when a man abandons or remits his search for a time, Fate sends in his way the very thing he is after, but has given up hunting just then! As he walked along the north side of a certain street, what should he see but the truly beautiful and remarkable eyes and eyebrows of Mr. Angelo, shining from afar.

That gentleman was standing, in a reverie, on the steps of a small hotel.

Bassett drew back at first, not to be seen. Looking round he saw he was at the door of a respectable house that let apartments. He hurried in, examined the drawing-room floor, took it for a week, paid in advance, and sent to the Royal for his bag.

He installed himself near the window, to await one of two things, and act accordingly. If Angelo left the place he should go by the same train, and so catch the parties together; if the lady doubled back to Bath, or had only pretended to leave it, he should soon know that, by diligent watch and careful following.

He wrote to Wheeler to announce this first step toward success.