etor of the office, was disgusting
to her refined sensibilities. Not oven De Guy came, to give her any
intimation of the nature of the fate which awaited her.

Maxwell's mind, she was satisfied, was fixed upon the possession of her
estates. She could not now entertain the belief which once, in her weak
pity, she had countenanced, that the attorney could _love_ her. O, no!
God forbid that even the human heart can love, and, at the same time,
persecute the object of its affections! It was her estates; and she half
resolved to compromise with her tormentor by yielding him one-half of
her property, on the condition of his restoring the other half, for she
doubted not that he was able to do so. But there was something so
debasing to her sentiment of truth and justice in the fact of
bargaining with so base a man, that she could not conquer her prejudice,
and finally determined to suffer everything rather than succumb to the
villain.

Hope had not yet abandoned her. She had too much confidence in the
omnipresent justice of an overruling Providence to doubt that all would
yet end well.

Dido was her jailer, and she scarcely left the office, through which
alone egress was had from the apartment of Emily. There she dozed away
the day and night, freely indulging in the fashionable habit of
"imbibing," to chase away the _ennui_ of the heavy hours. Her liberal
perquisites enabled her to gratify her appetite without stint or
measure, though a sort of demi-consciousness of her responsibility
deterred her from an entire abandonment to the pleasures of the cup.

The apartment in which Emily was confined was lighted by windows of
stained glass, opening into the main office, so that there was no
immediate connection with the open air. This fact rendered the room so
secure that Dido rested perfectly easy from the fear of interruption,
save from the front of the building.

The colored guardian, having imbibed rather inordinately one day, was
disposed to court the favor of the sleepy god, and stretched herself at
full length upon one of the easy lounges of the office. Her eyelids
opened and closed languidly, as though she was about to sink away into
dreamy unconsciousness, when she was startled by a loud knocking at the
door.

"Who's dar?" shouted Dido, springing to her feet; for a visit to the
office, at this season of the year, was of rare occurrence.

"Open the door, Max," responded a voice from the outside.

"Mr. Maxwell not he