stracted from Arthur's desk, and
further search discovered that nearly every article of value had been
perloined during her illness. Their charges were so exorbitant, that it
took nearly all the money she had to satisfy their demands, and when she
mentioned the cheque, &c., they held up their hands in horror at the
idea, that after all their kindness she should suspect them of such
villiany.

Weary and broken-hearted, Louisa set out on her lonely journey, and at
length arrived sad and dejected at Barrington Park, having had to part
with nearly all she possessed in order to prosecute her journey. After
some difficulty she succeeded in gaining Lord Barrington's presence.

"Well, what is it you want?" asked his lordship impatiently, but Louisa
could not speak, she could only hold out Arthur's letter with a mute
gesture of entreaty.

"I don't want to read any of that nonsense; just tell me what you want,
and be quick, as I am busy."

Tell him what she wanted!--tell him that she wanted him to love and
receive her as a daughter--tell him that the love he bore his son was
henceforth to be transferred to the unhappy being before him--how could
she tell him this? how could she tell him what she wanted?

"Speak, girl, I say!" he cried, angrily.

"Read this," she faltered, "it will tell you all."

"I will not," he answered; "tell me, or begone!"

Falling on her knees before him, she held out the letter, crying: "I am
Arthur's wife. He is dead, and this is his letter, and I am here
according to his wish--to his dying injuction. Take it--read it--it will
tell you all."

"Good gracious, the girl is mad!" he exclaimed, "mad as a March hare.
Come, come! get up and go about your business, or I shall have you put
in the asylum."

Louisa felt choking, she could not speak; she could only stretch out her
arms imploringly, still holding the letter.

"There is some great mistake; my son is not dead, nor is he married, so
do not think to impose upon me."

"There is no mistake; Arthur is dead, and you see his widow before you,"
she managed to articulate.

"No, no, Arthur is not dead, poor crazy girl; get up and go away," and
he threw her half a sovereign, saying, as he did so, "now go away
quickly, or I shall have you turned out; and mind, don't go about with
your tale about being my son's wife, or I shall send the police after
you. Now go."

Crushed and humbled as she was by sorrow and suffering, this was more
than Louisa's