rvice as to forget what
it is to cross her will, or keep her waiting."

Therewith he hurried Aurelia down stairs, his wife being in such a state
of _deshabille_ that she could not follow. He handed the young lady
into the carriage, gave her a parcel of slices of bread and meat, with a
piece of cake, shut the door, and said, "Be of good heart, Missie, we'll
catch you up by the time you are in the square. All right!"

Off went Aurelia in solitude, within a large carriage, once gaily fitted
though now somewhat faded and tarnished. She was sorry to be parted from
the Doves, whom she wanted to give her courage for the introduction to
my Lady, and to explain to her the wonders of the streets of London,
which she did not _quite_ expect to see paved with gold! She ate her
extemporised meal, gazing from the window, and expecting to see houses
and churches thicken on her, and hurrying to brush away her crumbs, and
put on her gloves lest she should arrive unawares, for she had counted
half-a-dozen houses close together. No! here was another field! More
fields and houses. The signs of habitation were, so far from increasing,
growing more scanty, and looked strangely like what she had before
passed. Could this be the right road! How foolish to doubt, when this
was my Lady's own coach. But oh, that it had waited for Mrs. Dove! She
would beg her to get in when the riders overtook her. When would they?
No sign of them could be seen from the windows, and here were more
houses. Surely this was Turnham Green again, or there must be another
village green exactly like it in the heart of London. How many times did
not poor Aurelia go through all these impressions in the course of the
drive. She was absolutely certain that she was taken through Brentford
again, this time without a halt; but after this the country became
unknown to her, and the road much worse. It was in fact for the most
part a mere ditch or cart track, so rough that the four horses came to
a walk. Aurelia had read no novels but _Telemaque_ and _Le Grand Cyrus_,
so her imagination was not terrified by tales of abduction, but alarm
began to grow upon her. She much longed to ask the coachman whither
he was taking her, but the check string had been either worn out or
removed; she could not open the door from within, nor make him hear, and
indeed she was a little afraid of him.

Twilight began to come on; it was much later than Mr. Dove had ever
ventured to be out, but here at