Lord William entered his cab, and drove rapidly away towards Kentish Town.

It was mid-day when he reached the abode of Mrs. Sefton—for his interview with the attorney had been a very long one: but at length his equipage stopped at the gate of a beautiful little villa standing in the midst of a garden well laid out, and having iron railings along the side adjoining the main-road.

Leaping from the vehicle, Lord William opened the gate and hastened up to the front door, which was immediately opened to his summons, by a little page in a plain but neat livery.

To his inquiry whether Mrs. Sefton were at home, an answer in the affirmative was given—the boy however adding that his mistress was engaged at the moment.

Scarcely was the response thus conveyed, when the lady herself, having caught the sound of the young patrician’s voice, came forth from a parlour opening from the hall; and, tendering him her hand, she said, “Oh! I am so glad you are come, my lord—for I am cruelly bewildered how to act!”

“Has anything new transpired, madam?” asked Trevelyan, unable to gather anything decisive from the expression of her countenance, which seemed to denote mingled hope and uncertainty—a gleam of satisfaction shining from amidst dark clouds of suspense.

“Come with me, my lord,” she said; “and you will advise me how to act.”

Thus speaking, she led the way into the parlour, followed by Trevelyan.

A man rose from a chair on his entrance; and the sinister countenance of that individual appeared to be not altogether unfamiliar to the young patrician, who could not however conjecture at the moment where he had seen or met that person before.

The individual himself seemed to recognise the nobleman—or at least to be troubled by his presence: but, almost immediately recovering his self-possession, he bowed low and resumed his seat.

“This gentleman, my lord,” said Mrs. Sefton, “is a Mr. Green of Liverpool,—and he has brought me strange—nay, the strangest tidings relative to Sir Gilbert.”

“And what may those tidings be, madam?” asked Trevelyan, addressing his words to the lady, but keeping his eyes fixed suspiciously on Mr. Green all the time.

“Remember, madam, that all I have said has been in the strictest confidence!” exclaimed the latter hastily, and with a manner which only tended to increase the young nobleman’s suspicions.

“But Lord William Trevelyan is an intimate—a very intimate friend of Sir Gilbert,” said Mrs. Sefton.

“It matters not, madam,” observed Mr. Green: “my instructions were positive——”

“It matters greatly, however, sir,” interrupted the lady. “Your tale appeared to me strange and inconsistent from the very first—though Heaven knows what motive you can have in deceiving me so cruelly, if deceit it be: but now my suspicions are painfully increased——”

“Madam, you know not what you are saying,” exclaimed Green: “you are insulting me, after all the trouble I have taken in this matter. But have your own way—my presence is no longer necessary here.”

And, rising from his seat, he was moving towards the door, when a light suddenly broke in upon Trevelyan’s mind—and it flashed to his recollection that he had encountered this individual that very forenoon in the office of Mr. James Heathcote, the attorney.

“Stop, sir!” he cried, seizing the clerk by the collar of his coat, and forcibly detaining him: “we have met before—I know you now! Scarcely two hours have elapsed since you conducted me into the presence of Mr. Heathcote, who is doubtless your master.”

“Mr. Heathcote!” ejaculated Mrs. Sefton, a deadly pallor covering her countenance. “Ah! then my suspicions are to be confirmed—and he is persecuting me now!”

“Be seated, sir,” said Trevelyan, pushing the discomfited clerk back into the chair which he had so recently left. “And now, madam,” he continued, turning towards the lady, “will you have the kindness to explain to me all that this man has told you—the object of his visit, in fine?”

“Oh! my lord, what hideous treachery is at work!” exclaimed Mrs. Sefton, sinking upon a sofa, almost overcome by the varied emotions that agitated in her bosom. “This man introduced himself to me as Mr. Green of Liverpool, and as having brought me tidings of Sir Gilbert. He represented that Sir Gilbert, seized with a sudden terror through pecuniary difficulties, had fled to America——”

“’Tis false! false as ever diabolical deceit could be!” cried Trevelyan, emphatically. “I will stake my existence that so far from being in any financial embarrassment, Sir Gilbert Heathcote owes not a farthing in the world, and does not live even up to his income.”

“Your lordship takes too much upon yourself in making such random statements,” said Green: “since I am well assured of the exact truth of the story I have told the lady.”

“This is a singular way for a man to express himself, if he be an actual emissary from Sir Gilbert,” observed Trevelyan. “You are well assured of the exact truth of your story—are you? Then you would have us infer that you had received it second-hand. But pray continue, madam:—what else did this fellow tell you? We shall unmask him altogether presently—and perhaps his next move will be from hence to the presence of a magistrate.”

Mr. Green endeavoured to assume as much composure as he could possibly call to his aid: but he did not at all admire the aspect that things were taking—nor did he feel comfortable under the threat so plainly held out.

“Oh! my lord, what a snare has been spread for me!” exclaimed Mrs. Sefton, clasping her hands together in profound thankfulness that she had escaped the danger. “This bad man who now trembles in your presence, would have induced me to accompany him with the least possible delay to Liverpool,—thence to embark by myself in order to rejoin Sir Gilbert in New York. He has even about his person the funds to bear the expenses of my voyage:—and he would at once have hurried me away to Liverpool,—only, in the first place, a vague suspicion was excited in my mind,—and, secondly, I had particular—oh! very particular reasons for remaining in London at least a few hours longer——”

Mrs. Sefton suddenly checked herself: she was being hurried away by her excited feelings into allusions or positive revelations, on the verge of which she thus stopped short. Trevelyan did not, however, comprehend the motive of the abrupt pause which she made, but attributed it to the influence of her over-wrought emotions.

“Mr. Green—or whatever your real name may be,” exclaimed the nobleman, turning round upon the clerk, “what explanation can you give, sir, in respect to all this?”

“I know not by what right you demand any explanation, my lord,” said the man, determined to put as good a face upon the matter as possible.

“I will tell you by what right,” returned the patrician: “by the right which every man has to protect and defend a lady against the machinations of her enemies—by the right that every honest member of society has to unmask a villain——”

“Do you allude to me, my lord?” demanded Green, rising from his seat.

“I do, sir,” replied Trevelyan. “You are a villain, because you have lent yourself to an infamous trick. You cannot have been imposed upon—inasmuch as you have told many deliberate and wilful falsehoods. You pretend to have arrived straight from Liverpool, whereas you are undoubtedly a clerk in the office of Mr. James Heathcote—for you enacted the part of a clerk when I called there ere now. You would have induced this lady to quit London and repair to a foreign country, where nothing but disappointment—perhaps beggary—would have awaited her; and this act is so vile—so atrocious—so horribly base, that I can scarcely control my feelings—I can scarcely restrain my patience, while I thus upbraid you with your infamy. Were you a younger man, sir——”

But the nobleman stopped short, ashamed of wasting a menace upon one so unworthy of the honest ire of a generous soul.

“Now that your lordship has lavished all your abuse upon me, perhaps I may be permitted to depart,” said Green, with much apparent coolness, though in reality he was terribly alarmed.

“Not until you have explained the meaning of this atrocious proceeding in which you have borne so prominent a part,” replied Lord William. “Make up your mind to answer my questions in a way that shall carry truth upon the face of your words—or prepare to give an account of your conduct to the proper authority.”

“What—what would you have me do, my lord?” asked the miserable wretch, now unable to conceal his terror—unable also to subdue the trembling of his limbs.

“Has foul play been adopted with regard to Sir Gilbert Heathcote?” demanded Lord William, speaking in a measured tone, and fixing his eyes keenly upon the clerk.

“Good God! Does your lordship suspect that he is murdered?” exclaimed Green, horrified at the bare idea. “No—no: thank Heaven—it is not so bad as that!”

“Thank Heaven also!” murmured Mrs. Sefton, her heart experiencing a relief so great and sudden—for the man was evidently speaking the truth—that she felt as if she were about to faint through excessive joy.

“I scarcely apprehended such a frightful alternative as my words may have seemed to imply,” said Trevelyan. “But delay not, man—speak—tell me—tell this afflicted lady also—where is Sir Gilbert Heathcote?”

“My lord, I dare not——”

“Hesitate not another moment, sir,” cried the nobleman, grasping the clerk violently by the collar of his coat: “hesitate not, I say—or I will drag you into the presence of the magistrate. Tell me—where is my friend?—where is Sir Gilbert?”

“My lord—my lord”—stammered the affrighted wretch, his countenance rendered hideous by its workings.

“Speak—sir—I command you!” exclaimed Trevelyan, in a tone of terrible excitement. “Trifle not with me—or I shall do you a mischief. Where—where, I ask for the last time, is Sir Gilbert Heathcote?”

“In——But you will kill me, my lord——”

“Speak, villain! Where is he?” demanded the infuriate noble.

“In a mad-house!” was the reply, absolutely wrung by terror from the clerk.

A piercing scream burst from the lips of Mrs. Sefton—and in another moment she fell heavily upon the carpet, with a dead sound as if it were a corpse that had rolled from the sofa.

Trevelyan—stupified by the astounding words that had fallen upon his ear—let go his hold on the wretched clerk, on whom he stood gazing for a few moments as if he had become petrified—turned into a statue—paralysed—motionless. But suddenly he seemed to be struck with the conviction that Mrs. Sefton needed his assistance; and, forgetting in the agitation and excitement of his feelings to keep a watch upon the clerk, he hastened to raise the prostrate lady from the floor.

He placed her upon the sofa, and sprinkled water (of which there happened to be a decanter full on the table) upon her countenance. In a few minutes she opened her eyes, and gazed wildly around her.

Trevelyan drew back a few paces so that the air might circulate freely about her—when, suddenly remembering the clerk, he looked hurriedly round.

But the villain had stolen away!

At this moment a bitter groan burst from the lips of Mrs. Sefton; for a remembrance of all that had just occurred came rapidly to her mind—and the horrible word “mad-house” seemed to echo in her ears and touch a chord that vibrated with a feeling of anguish to her very brain.

She covered her face with her hands, while her bosom heaved convulsively.

“Compose yourself, madam, I implore you,” said Trevelyan. “Even this certainty which we have acquired, is preferable to the suspense previously endured.”

“But is there hope, my lord—is there any hope left for me?” she inquired, removing her hands from her countenance—now so pale—and gazing up at the young patrician in a beseechful manner.

“Assuredly there is hope, my dear madam,” returned Trevelyan, emphatically. “I am confident that Sir Gilbert is in the possession of his intellects as completely as ever, and that he is a victim—but not a maniac. Indeed, I see through it all!”

“Oh! now you inspire me with hope!” exclaimed Mrs. Sefton, taking his hand and pressing it with fervent gratitude: and as her face was upturned towards his own, it suddenly struck him,—struck him like a flash of lightning,—that there was in that countenance an expression reminding him of Agnes Vernon,—although he had never beheld the features of the Recluse of the Cottage otherwise than tranquil, calm, and serene. Nevertheless, that idea seized upon him: but in the next moment he said to himself, “It is mere fancy!”—and as Mrs. Sefton at that instant settled herself in such a manner upon the sofa that her back became turned to the window and the variation of light produced a change in the expression of her countenance, that idea was immediately absorbed in other and more important considerations in the mind of the young patrician.

“Oh! now you inspire me with hope!” Mrs. Sefton had said; and her face brightened up—so that it was at the moment when this sudden lustre of joy was suffused upon her features, that the above mentioned idea had struck the nobleman.

“Yes, madam—there is every reason to hope,” he responded. “The entire plot, in all its terrible iniquity, is now before me as clear as the noon-day sun. I can read it as plainly as if it were in a book. The brother is at the bottom of it all.”

“Did I not tell your lordship that he was a villain?” asked Mrs. Sefton.

“Yes, my dear madam,” replied Trevelyan: “but I am slow to form injurious opinions of any man. Now, however, I have the conviction of his turpitude—and I hesitate no longer to proclaim him to be all that you represented him.”

“But—merciful heavens! while we are wasting time in words,” exclaimed Mrs. Sefton, seized with a sudden access of wild excitement, “Gilbert is in a horrible predicament—and we should be acting—not talking.”

“Haste and precipitation will effect no good in this matter, my dear madam,” said Trevelyan.

“But we must find out the place where he is confined—we must apply to the officers of justice—we must release him!” cried the lady, her excitement increasing.

“Pray, my dear madam, listen to me with some degree of composure,” said the young nobleman; “and I will explain to you how we must proceed, and why nothing can be done with that speed which would naturally be most consonant with your feelings.”

“I am composed—I am tranquil now, my dear friend—for in such a light you will permit me to consider you,” observed Mrs. Sefton, exercising as strong a control over her emotions as she possibly could command.

“In the first place I must tell you that I saw Mr. James Heathcote this morning,” resumed Trevelyan “and when I think of his cool villainy—his unblushing effrontery—his matchless impudence, I could tear my hair with rage at the idea of how I was duped. For though I entered his office with a strong suspicion—in spite of the remonstrance which I last night made to you—I quitted his presence with a very different impression.”

“And that man who was ere now with us, is his clerk?” said Mrs. Sefton. “But what could be the motive of their base attempt to induce me to quit the country with such extraordinary precipitation?”

“The reason is apparent enough, my dear madam,” answered Trevelyan; “and I will now explain to you the whole matter, as I understand it. James Heathcote has suborned two unprincipled villains, calling themselves medical practitioners, to grant a certificate of the insanity of his brother. The law of England permits such a proceeding——”

“Then the law of England is worthy only of barbarians!” exclaimed the lady, emphatically.

“You are not the only person in the country who entertains the same conviction,” observed Trevelyan, with a smile: then, instantly resuming a serious expression of countenance, he said, “By virtue of that certificate, Sir Gilbert is suddenly seized upon and carried off to a madhouse.”

“Oh! it is horrible!” cried the lady, in a tone of extreme bitterness mingled with anguish, while a convulsive shudder passed over her from head to foot.

“The iniquity is tremendous—and yet it is legal,” said Lord William. “Yes—I blush for my country when I declare such to be the fact,—I blush also for my fellow-countrymen that they should tolerate a system which savages themselves would regard with abhorrence! Well, madam, the deed is done—the atrocity is consummated—and Sir Gilbert Heathcote, though in the complete enjoyment of his intellects, is borne off to a lunatic-asylum. James—his vile brother—will obtain the control over his property; and that is the aim and object of his wickedness. But knowing that you are interested—deeply interested in Sir Gilbert’s welfare——”

“Oh! heaven can witness how deeply!” exclaimed the lady, clasping her hands with fervour.

“Knowing, I repeat, how profoundly you are interested in all that concerns my valued friend,” continued Trevelyan, “James Heathcote sought to expatriate you at least for a season—so that he might prevent you from adopting any measures to restore the victim to the enjoyment of freedom.”

“But of what avail would a few weeks’ delay be, even supposing that the plot devised against myself had succeeded?” asked Mrs. Sefton. “If I had gone to America, I should have found that Sir Gilbert was not in New York—and I should have forthwith returned to London. Unless, indeed,” she added, with a shudder, “my heart had broken with the immensity of its sorrow!”

“Ah! madam—and it was perhaps upon this catastrophe that the vile man reckoned!” said Lord William, his blood growing cold at the extent of the turpitude which he was contemplating. “And yet a more terrible suspicion still has come into my mind—a suspicion so dreadful——”

“Name it! Keep me not in suspense!” cried the lady, observing that her young friend was himself becoming painfully excited now.

“During your absence, madam,” returned he, his countenance darkening,—“during your absence, I say—supposing that you had been induced to depart—sufficient time would be gained to drive Sir Gilbert mad in reality; and then, on your reappearance in London, the lawyer would have defied all that you could possibly attempt or devise!”

“Merciful heaven!” ejaculated the horror-stricken woman; “can so much black iniquity exist in the human breast?”

“Alas! such schemes as these are of frequent occurrence in this land which vaunts a consummate civilisation!” said Trevelyan. “Could we but penetrate into the mysteries of the mad-house, we should behold scenes that would make our hair stand on end—our blood run cold in our veins—our very souls sick! Yes, madam—too often, indeed, is the lunatic asylum rendered the engine of the most hideous cruelty: too often does it become a prison for the sane!”

“You will drive me mad, my lord!” cried Mrs. Sefton, dreadfully excited: “I shall myself become an inmate—and deservedly so—of one of those awful places!”

“Pardon me, dear madam—pardon me,” said Trevelyan, deeply afflicted at having suffered his excited feelings to hurry him into those passionate exclamations which had so terrified her. “I was wrong thus to dwell on the subject.”

“No—no: it is better that I should learn the worst,” she cried, with a strong spasmodic shuddering, while horror—ineffable horror—convulsed her countenance. “But how shall we rescue him from that living tomb?”

“Abandon not yourself to despair,” replied Trevelyan. “In the first instance I must discover the place where our friend is confined: and then, trust to me to effect his deliverance!”

“Excellent man!—generous-hearted noble!” cried Mrs. Sefton, in a tone indicative of the most fervent gratitude. “But will not the law aid us in all this?”

“I have already explained to you, my dear madam, that every thing has doubtless been done by James Heathcote under colour of the most monstrous law that disgraces our statute-book,” responded Lord William. “Were I to apply to a magistrate, I could obtain no redress: he would be unable to assist me. The Commissioners in Lunacy would view the matter in the ordinary light, and tell me that when the time for the usual periodical visit to the various asylums arrived, due inquiries should be instituted. No—the lawyer must be assailed by other weapons: cunning must be met by cunning;—and much as I abhor duplicity, I will not fail to use it, if necessary, in this case. Believe me when I assure you that no time shall be lost, and that I will without delay adopt measures to discover the place where our friend is imprisoned.”

“God send you success!” murmured Mrs. Sefton, faintly: then, in a higher tone and with renewed excitement, she said, “But how can I calm my feelings—how can I tranquillize myself even for a moment, while this state of suspense shall last? And when I think of what his feelings must be——Oh! it is enough to drive him mad in reality where he is, and me likewise mad here!”

“But you must endeavour to exercise some degree of command over your emotions,” said Trevelyan. “Consider—reflect—I may require your aid in this work of deliverance; and——”

“Oh! now indeed you hold out an inducement calculated to calm me—to give me courage!” exclaimed Mrs. Sefton. “Yes—I will be tranquil: I will exercise a greater control over my feelings. I will throw aside the weakness of a woman, and become strong in the hope of Sir Gilbert’s rescue, and in the endeavour to accomplish it.”

“This frame of mind becomes you, my dear madam,” said Trevelyan. “And now permit me to take my departure—for there is no time to be lost.”

“Farewell for the present,” responded Mrs. Sefton, offering him her hand; “and accept my most unfeigned gratitude for your noble conduct towards me and your generous intentions in behalf of Sir Gilbert Heathcote.”

“You shall thank me when I have succeeded in my endeavour to restore him to you,” said Trevelyan pressing the lady’s hand with the cordiality of that friendship which, short as their acquaintance had been, circumstances had established and even cemented between them.

He then hastened away from her dwelling, and drove to his own house in Park Square.