how I should bless God, while you are away, if I had
one kind and sympathising friend!

Still, dearest, I go on counting the hours and
minutes that narrow the gulf which separates us
from the ninth of June. You and I have been
jogging on gaily together since my last, and we are
now starting from Dijon. I see your dear eager eyes
straining out of the carriage window, and hear your
big round voice urging the postilion forward. Only
three weeks! Oh, that it were only a week, a
day, an hour, a minute!

A few days later:

They have just heard that your visit to Lord
Wordley in Florence has made your election for
Shutbury certain, dearest; and nothing can exceed their
disappointment. They will speak of you, however
much I try to turn off the conversation. Yesterday
I said to Mr. Calder, (who now comes oftener than
ever. Sometimes they both come together,) that the
newspapers appeared to say that the county was
getting quiet. 'It will never be quiet,' he exclaimed,
'while such treason-hatchers as George Dornley are
allowed to be at large!' and a great deal more in that
strain; also, that it was the ruin of the country for
such people as you to be allowed to succeed to powerful
inheritances. He does not speak passionately;
but in a dry way; between his teeth, as if he were
grinding his words; his hand tightly clenched on his
knee. Mrs. Calder was more spiteful than ever. She
spoke of the sin of clandestine marriages, and said they
ought to be made illegal,—that her children would be
beggars, compared with your children; and she looked at
me from head to foot with a malicious look that made
me tremble. I felt almost convinced that she knew all,
and said it to wound me; yet I always sit in the great
chair with my back to the light, and never leave off my
pillow-lace-making; but she has such piercing eyes
that she can, I am sure, see in the dark. Both of
them harp upon your father's illness; not pitying
him, but regretting that it is impossible, in his wretched
condition, to get the entail of the Crookston estates
cut off.

In spite of all, my dearest, I go on travelling with
you as I sit at work (I have made lace enough for six
sweet little caps; and such a long robe!). I hear the
horses' bells, and the postilion's whip, and feel a jolt
now and then, and somebody gets very angry with
postmasters, and uses dreadfully strong expressions. We
are now starting from Paris, are we not, darling?

The next letter was dated a week later:

Dear old Mr. Dornley was taken to Bath yesterday,
and I feel, though I never have seen him since you
left, more lonely than ever. Now that the truth will
not worry you, my dear husband, I can tell you that
I have not related a tenth part of the persecution I
have endured from your brother and his wife;
although I always wish to think of them with affection
and even with love, as your relations. Indeed Dr. Bole
has been afraid of something happening before its time
in consequence of it: but he does not know what a
strong-minded little woman I am.

This will reach you at Dover; and we are jogging
on merrily to London. Your letter to me appears
to have been delayed by the post-office. I am
delighted with the arrangements of your London friend,
and lost no time in obeying your instructions. I
learn that the cottage he has chosen for us at
Hampstead is quite in the country, yet not a very long
drive from the House of Commons, where so much
of your time will be passed. But, darling, you
must not be angry if I disobey you in not leaving
our dear home for the new one, until after your return.
Had your letter arrived when it ought, I might
perhaps have been glad to get away from, (must I call
them?) my enemies; but now, as a week has gone
by; and as, from the moment we separated, every
faculty I have has been strained to picturing our next
meeting here—in the beloved home which is
associated with every particle of the happiness I owe
you, I would rather bear my troubles for a few
days longer than go to London to meet you there.
Besides Dr. Bole says it may not be safe for me to
travel just now. You must, you say, visit Shutbury
the moment you land. Now that town being in
the way to Crookston, if your plan were adopted there
would be a day's delay, and your birth-day— the
longed-for ninth—would pass away and be no more to
me than any other day.

No one except your brother and his wife call upon
me. I have had what dear papa used to call parochial
visits from the rector; but Mrs. Drawley and her
daughters never come, and scarcely speak when we meet
them in the road. Even good Miss Pim, the Quakeress
of the post-office, whose gossip I used to enjoy so much,
has been of late very sparing of her conversation when
I go to her shop, and has twice hinted that injurious
reports are afloat respecting me, and which have, I
shudder when I reflect, strong appearances to favour
them. But, darling, next Monday week is the
bright golden ninth; and you will come; and all the
world will know that I—— O I am getting crazy with
joy!

The last letter was that sent to meet the
recipient at the Nottingham inn.

Darling, I send this, as you requested, to the Royal
George. Pray, give my best remembrances to the good
landlady, who was so kind to me when we stopped
there on the day of our stolen journey; and to my
beautiful little handmaid, her daughter. How well they
have kept our secret!

We are starting by the night coach from London,
and are outside, I fear. Pray let us wrap up warm;
for these June nights are treacherous. I never knew
such a cold summer.

Black Nan was sent away yesterday by Farmer
Thorn, who, having business at Shutbury, was glad to
ride her there. I know you will be pleased with her
condition. Be sure and praise her condition to Thomas
when you meet him at Alfreton; for he is excessively
proud of it; and has been altogether an excellent and
discreet lad from the moment you left. I will not fail
to send him to meet you with the old grey, at Alfreton,
that you may have a fresh horse to gallop you home.
I hope you will gallop all the way—home—to me!
The ecstasy of that thought is too great. . . .

O, my adored husband! as Monday approaches my
happiness is scarcely endurable! If my old cloudy
fits did not now and then damp it, I believe it would
drive me crazy. Sometimes I fancy something might
happen to prevent or delay our meeting; sometimes I
believe that nothing could prevent it, and that there
is no cruelty so terrible upon earth, much less in
heaven, to destroy the world of happiness that awaits
me. A thousand blessings, my beloved!

P.S. I open my letter to say that Dr. Bole has been
suddenly sent for to go to Bath to put the Bath
doctors in the right way of treating your father."

The rest of the story—learnt from
Hockle's packet, from himself, and from