“I believe you, sir,” replied Birney; “but in the meantime we are completely at a stand.  Chance, it is true, may throw something in our way; but, in the present position of circumstances, chance, nay, all the chances are against us.”

“It is unfortunately too true,” replied the stranger; “there is not a single opening left for us; we are, on the contrary, shut out completely in every direction.  I shall write, however, to a lady who possesses much influence with Miss Gourlay; but, alas, to what purpose?  Miss Gourlay herself has no influence whatever; and, as to her father, he does not live who could divert him from his object.  His vile ambition only in the matter of his daughter could influence him, and it will do so to her destruction, for she cannot survive this marriage long.”

“You look thin, and a good deal careworn,” observed Birney, “which, indeed, I am sorry to see.  Constant anxiety, however, and perpetual agitation of spirits will wear any man down.  Well, I must bid you good morning; but I had almost forgotten to inquire about poor Fenton.  Any trace of him during my absence?”

“Not the slightest.  In fact, every point is against us.  Lady Gourlay has relapsed into her original hopelessness, or nearly so, and I myself am now more depressed than I have ever been.  Parish register, documents, corrupt knaves, and ungrateful traitors—­perish all the machinery of justice on the one hand, and of villainy on the other; only let us succeed in securing Miss Gourlay’s happiness, and I am contented.  That, now and henceforth, is the absorbing object of my life.  Let her be happy; let her be but happy—­and this can only be done by preventing her union with this heartless young man, whose principal motive to it is her property.”

Birney then took his departure, leaving his friend in such a state of distress, and almost of despair, on Lucy’s account, as we presume our readers can very sufficiently understand, without any further assistance from us.  He could not, however, help congratulating himself on his prudence in withholding from Miss Gourlay the sanguine expectations which he himself had entertained upon the result of Birney’s journey to France.  Had he not done so, he knew that she would have participated in his hopes, and, as a natural consequence, she must now have had to bear this deadly blow of disappointment, probably the last cherished hope of her heart; and under such circumstances, it is difficult to say what its effect upon her might have been.  This was now his only satisfaction, to which we may add the consciousness that he had not, by making premature disclosures, been the means of compromising the innocent.

After much thought and reflection upon the gloomy position in which both he himself and especially Lucy were placed, he resolved to write to Mrs. Mainwaring upon the subject; although at the moment he scarcely knew in what terms to address her, or what steps he could suggest to her, as one feeling a deep interest in Miss Gourlay’s happiness.  At length, after much anxious rumination, he wrote the following short letter, or rather note, more with a view of alarming Mrs. Mainwaring into activity, than of dictating to her any line of action as peculiarly suited to the circumstances.