“Can this be true?” asked Miss Ellstowe, incredulously.

“I assure you it is.  We had quite lost sight of them for a few years back, and I little supposed we should meet under such circumstances.  I fear I shall be the cause of great discomfort, but I am sure in the end I shall be thanked.  I could not, with any sense of honour or propriety, permit such a thing as this marriage to be consummated, without at least warning your friends of the real position of this fellow.  I trust, Miss Ellstowe, you will inform them of what I have told you.”  “How can I?  Oh, Mr. Stevens!” said she, in a tone of deep distress, “this will be a terrible blow—­it will almost kill Anne.  No, no; the task must not devolve on me—­I cannot tell them.  Poor little thing! it will break her heart, I am afraid.”

“Oh, but you must, Miss Ellstowe; it would seem very impertinent in me—­a stranger—­to meddle in such a matter; and, besides, they may be aware of it, and not thank me for my interference.”

“No, I assure you they are not; I am confident they have not the most distant idea of such a thing—­they would undoubtedly regard it as an act of kindness on your part.  I shall insist upon your remaining until the return of Mr. Bates, when I shall beg you to repeat to him what you have already revealed to me.”

“As you insist upon it, I suppose I must,” repeated he, after some reflection; “but I must say I do not like the office of informer,” concluded he, with assumed reluctance.

“I am sorry to impose it upon you; yet, rest assured, they will thank you.  Excuse me for a few moments—­I will go and see how Anne is.”

Miss Ellstowe returned, after a short interval, with the information that little Birdie was much more composed, and would, no doubt, soon recover from her fright.

“To receive a worse blow,” observed George Stevens.  “I pity the poor little thing—­only to think of the disgrace of being engaged to a nigger.  It is fortunate for them that they will make the discovery ere it be too late.  Heavens! only think what the consequences might have been had she married this fellow, and his peculiar position became known to them afterwards!  She would have been completely ‘done for.’”

Thus conversing respecting Clarence, they awaited the return of Mr. Bates.  After the lapse of a couple of hours he entered the drawing-room.  Mr. Stevens was presented to him by Miss Ellstowe, as a particular friend of herself and family.  “I believe you were here when I came in before; I regret I was obliged to leave so abruptly,” courteously spoke Mr. Bates, whilst bowing to his new acquaintance; “the sudden and alarming illness of my young friend will, I trust, be a sufficient apology.”

“How is he now?” asked Miss Ellstowe.

“Better—­much better,” answered he, cheerfully; “but very wild and distracted in his manner—­alarmingly so, in fact.  He clung to my hand, and wrung it when we parted, and bid me good bye again and again, as if it was for the last time.  Poor fellow! he is frightened at that hemorrhage, and is afraid it will be fatal; but there is not any danger, he only requires to be kept quiet—­he will soon come round again, no doubt.  I shall have to ask you to excuse me again,” said he, in conclusion; “I must go and see my daughter.”