e, with her
head and shoulders resting on the chair.

CHAPTER XII.

MR. VANE was putting Mrs. Woffington into her chair, when he thought he
heard his name cried. He bade that lady a mournful farewell, and stepped
back into his own hall. He had no sooner done so than he heard a voice,
the accent of which alarmed him, though he distinguished no word. He
hastily crossed the hall and flew into the banquet-room. Coming rapidly
in at the folding-doors he almost fell over his wife, lying insensible
half upon the floor and half upon the chair. When he saw her pale and
motionless, a terrible misgiving seized him; he fell on his knees.

"Mabel, Mabel!" cried he, "my love! my innocent wife! Oh, God! what have
I done? Perhaps it is the fatigue--perhaps she has fainted."

"No, it is not the fatigue!" screamed a voice near him. It was old James
Burdock, who, with his white hair streaming and his eye gleaming with
fire, shook his fist in his master's face--"no, it is not the fatigue,
you villain! It is you who have killed her, with your jezebels and
harlots, you scoundrel!"

"Send the women here, James, for God's sake!" cried Mr. Vane, not
even noticing the insult he had received from a servant. He stamped
furiously, and cried for help. The whole household was round her in a
moment. They carried her to bed.

The remorse-stricken man, his own knees trembling under him, flew, in an
agony of fear and self-reproach, for a doctor!

_A doctor?_

CHAPTER XIII.

DURING the garden scene, Mr. Vane had begged Mrs. Woffington to let him
accompany her. She peremptorily refused, and said in the same breath
she was going to Triplet, in Hercules Buildings, to have her portrait
finished.

Had Mr. Vane understood the sex, he would not have interpreted her
refusal to the letter; when there was a postscript, the meaning of which
was so little enigmatical.

Some three hours after the scene we have described, Mrs. Woffington sat
in Triplet's apartment; and Triplet, palette in hand, painted away upon
her portrait.

Mrs. Woffington was in that languid state which comes to women after
their hearts have received a blow. She felt as if life was ended, and
but the dregs of existence remained; but at times a flood of bitterness
rolled over her, and she resigned all hope of perfect happiness in this
world--all hope of loving and respecting the same creature; and at these
moments she had but one idea--to use her own power, and bind her lover