There are no words capable of conveying the faintest idea of the feelings that agitated Mrs. Fitz. at this moment.  The fullest confirmation to her worst fears was before her eyes—­just at the very instant when a doubt was beginning to cross over her mind that it might have been merely a hoax that was practised on her, and that the worthy Doctor was innocent and blameless.  As for the poor Doctor himself, there seemed little chance of his being enlightened as to the real state of matters; for from the moment the young lady had taken her place in the chaise, she had buried her face in her hands, and sobbed continually.  Meanwhile he concluded that they were approaching the house by some back entrance, to avoid noise and confusion, and waited, with due patience, for the journey’s end.

As, however, her grief continued unabated, Fitz. at length began to think of the many little consolatory acts he had successfully practised in his professional career, and was just insinuating some very tender speech on the score of resignation, with his head inclined towards the weeping lady beside him, when the chaise of Mrs. Fitz. came up along-side, and the postillions having yielded to the call to halt, drew suddenly up, displaying to the enraged wife the tableau we have mentioned.

“So, wretch,” she screamed rather than spoke, “I have detected you at last.”

“Lord bless me!  Why it is my wife.”

“Yes, villain! your injured, much-wronged wife!  And you, madam, may I ask what you have to say for thus eloping with a married man?”

“Shame!  My dear Jemima,” said Fitz. “how can you possibly permit your foolish jealousy so far to blind your reason.  Don’t you see I am going upon a professional call?”

“Oh! you are.  Are you?  Quite professional, I’ll be bound.”

“Oh, sir!  Oh, madam!  I beseech you, save me from the anger of my relatives, and the disgrace of exposure.  Pray bring me back at once.”

“Why, my God! ma’am, what do you mean?  You are not gone mad, as well as my wife.”

“Really, Mr. Fitz.” said Mrs. F. “this is carrying the joke too far.  Take your unfortunate victim—­as I suppose she is such—­home to her parents, and prepare to accompany me to the barrack; and if there be law and justice in—­”

“Well! may the Lord in his mercy preserve my senses, or you will both drive me clean mad.”

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” sobbed the young lady, while Mrs. Fitzgerald continued to upbraid at the top of her voice, heedless of the disclaimers and protestations of innocence poured out with the eloquence of despair, by the poor doctor.  Matters were in this state, when a man dressed in a fustian jacket, like a groom, drove up to the side of the road, in a tax-cart; he immediately got down, and tearing open the door of the doctor’s chaise, lifted out the young lady, and deposited her safely in his own conveyance, merely adding—­

“I say, master, you’re in luck this morning, that Mr. William took the lower road; for if he had come up with you instead of me, he’d blow the roof off your scull, that’s all.”