“Let us fancy ourselves there,” replied her father, smiling; and lights appearing, Emmeline and Ellen were speedily at the instruments, bestowing pleasure unalloyed by this domestic use of their talents to those dear ones who had so assiduously cultivated them.  Their improvement, under the best professors in London, had been rapid; for, carefully prepared, no difficulties had to be overcome ere improvement commenced; and the approbation and evident pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton amply repaid those young and innocent beings for all the exertions they had made, particularly Emmeline, who, as we know, had determined, on her first arrival in London, to prove she would not learn, when all around her was so changed.

“Surely, surely, Caroline, surrounded by gaiety as she is, cannot be as happy as I am to-night,” burst with wild glee from the lips of Emmeline, as at about half-past ten o’clock her father kissed her glowing cheek, and thanked her for the pleasing recreation she had given him.  She had scarcely spoken, when a carriage was heard driving somewhat rapidly through the Square, then stopped, it appeared at their door, and a thundering and truly aristocratic rap resounded, startling not a little the inmates of that peaceful drawing-room.

“Who can it be at this hour?” demanded Emmeline, in an accent of bewilderment.  “How very disagreeable.  I did not wish any intrusion to-night.  Mamma, dear mamma, you look terrified.”

Mr. Hamilton had opened the drawing-room door, and was about to descend the stairs, for he too was startled at this unusual visit; but he turned at Emmeline’s words, for his wife did not usually indulge in unfounded alarm or anticipated fears, but at that instant her wonted presence of mind appeared about to desert her; she was pale as marble, and had started up in an attitude of terror.

Voices were heard, and stops, well-known steps, ascending the stairs.

“It is the Duchess of Rothbury’s voice and step—­my child!” burst from her lips, in an accent that neither Emmeline nor Ellen ever could forget, and she sunk back almost fainting on her seat.  Her children flew to her side in alarm, but ere a minute had passed away that wild anxiety was calmed, for Caroline herself entered with the Duchess, but her death-like cheek, blanched lip, and haggard eye told a tale of suffering which that mother could not mark unmoved.  Vainly Mrs. Hamilton strove to rise and welcome the Duchess:  she had no power to move from her chair.

“Caroline, my child!” were the only words her faltering tongue could utter; and that agonized voice thrilled through the heart of the now truly unhappy girl, and roused her from that trance of overwhelming emotion which bade her stand spell-bound at the threshold.  She sprung forward, and sinking at her mother’s feet, buried her face in her robe.