She roused herself at the parting moment and looked back.  The last sight she saw at St. Crux was old Mazey wagging his head in the courtyard, with his fellow-profligates, the dogs, keeping time to him with their tails.  The last words she heard were the words in which the veteran paid his farewell tribute to her charms: 

“Burglary or no burglary,” said old Mazey, “she’s a fine-grown girl, if ever there was a fine one yet.  What a pity! what a pity!”

THE END OF THE SEVENTH SCENE.

BETWEEN THE SCENES.

PROGRESS OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.

I.

From George Bartram to Admiral Bartram.

“London, April 3d, 1848.

“MY DEAR UNCLE—­One hasty line, to inform you of a temporary obstacle, which we neither of us anticipated when we took leave of each other at St. Crux.  While I was wasting the last days of the week at the Grange, the Tyrrels must have been making their arrangements for leaving London.  I have just come from Portland Place.  The house is shut up, and the family (Miss Vanstone, of course, included) left England yesterday, to pass the season in Paris.

“Pray don’t let yourself be annoyed by this little check at starting.  It is of no serious importance whatever.  I have got the address at which the Tyrrels are living, and I mean to cross the Channel after them by the mail to-night.  I shall find my opportunity in Paris just as soon as I could have found it in London.  The grass shall not grow under my feet, I promise you.  For once in my life, I will take Time as fiercely by the forelock as if I was the most impetuous man in England; and, rely on it, the moment I know the result, you shall know the result, too.  Affectionately yours,

“GEORGE BARTRAM.”

II.

From George Bartram to Miss Garth.

“Paris, April 13th.

“DEAR MISS GARTH—­I have just written, with a heavy heart, to my uncle, and I think I owe it to your kind interest in me not to omit writing next to you.

“You will feel for my disappointment, I am sure, when I tell you, in the fewest and plainest words, that Miss Vanstone has refused me.

“My vanity may have grievously misled me, but I confess I expected a very different result.  My vanity may be misleading me still; for I must acknowledge to you privately that I think Miss Vanstone was sorry to refuse me.  The reason she gave for her decision—­no doubt a sufficient reason in her estimation—­did not at the time, and does not now, seem sufficient to me.  Sh e spoke in the sweetest and kindest manner, but she firmly declared that ‘her family misfortunes’ left her no honorable alternative—­but to think of my own interests as I had not thought of them myself—­and gratefully to decline accepting my offer.