“Oh, dear, yes, Mr. Paricles is with her,” returned Mrs. Chump.  “And, as I was sayin’, sir, two thousand pounds!  I ran off to my lawyer; for, it’ll seem odd to ye, now, Mr. Pow’s, that know my ’ffection for the Poles, poor dears, I’d an action against ’em.  ‘Stop ut,’ I cries out to the man:  if he’d been one o’ them that wears a wig, I couldn’t ha’ spoken so—­’Stop ut,’ I cries, not a bit afraid of ’m.  I wouldn’t let the man go on, for all I want to know is, that I’m not rrooned.  And now I’ve got money, I must have friends; for when I hadn’t, ye know, my friends seemed against me, and now I have, it’s the world that does, where’ll I hide it?  Oh, dear! now I’m with you, I don’t mind, though this brown-faced forr’ner servant of yours, he gives me shivers.  Can he understand English?—­becas I’ve got ut all in my pockut!”

Merthyr sighed wearily for release.  At last the train slackened speed, and the well-known fir-country appeared in sight.  Mrs. Chump caught him by the arm as he prepared to alight.  “Oh! and are ye goin’ to let me face the Poles without anyone to lean on in that awful moment, and no one to bear witness how kind I’ve spoken of ’em.  Mr. Pow’s! will ye prove that you’re a blessed angel, sir, and come, just for five minutes—­which is a short time to do a thing for a woman she’ll never forget.”

“Pray spare me, madam,” Merthyr pleaded.  “I have much to learn at Richford.”

“I cann’t spare ye, sir,” cried Mrs. Chump.  “I cann’t go before that fam’ly quite alone.  They’re a tarr’ble fam’ly.  Oh!  I’ll be goin’ on my knees to ye, Mr. Pow’s.  Weren’t ye sent by heaven now?  And you to run away!  And if you’re woundud, won’t I have a carr’ge from the station, which’ll be grander to go in, and impose on ’em, ye know.  Pray, sir!  I entreat ye!”

The tears burst from her eyes, and her hot hand clung to his imploringly.

Merthyr was a witness of the return of Mrs. Chump to Brookfield.  In that erewhile abode of Fine Shades, the Nice Feelings had foundered.  The circle of a year, beginning so fairly for them, enfolded the ladies and their first great scheme of life.  Emilia had been a touchstone to this family.  They could not know it in their deep affliction, but in manger they had much improved.  Their welcome of Mrs. Chump was an admirable seasoning of stateliness with kindness.  Cornelia and Arabella took her hand, listening with an incomparable soft smile to her first protestations, which they quieted, and then led her to Mr. Pole; of whom it may be said, that an accomplished coquette could not in his situation have behaved with a finer skill; so that, albeit received back into the house, Mrs. Chump had yet to discover what her footing there was to be, and trembled like the meanest of culprits.  Mr. Pole shook her hand warmly, tenderly, almost tearfully, and said to the melted woman:  “You’re right, Martha; it’s much better for us to examine accounts in a friendly way, than to have strangers and lawyers, and what not—­people who can’t possibly know the whole history, don’t you see—­meddling and making a scandal; and I’m much obliged to you for coming.”