eckless shriek of
female profligacy might be heard, the tongue, though loaded with
blasphemies, nearly paralyzed by intoxication. Nor can we close here.
The fashionable carriage made its appearance filled with beauty shorn of
its charms by a more refined dissipation--beauty, no longer beautiful,
returning with pale cheeks, languid eyes, and exhausted frame--after
having breathed a thickened and suffocating atmosphere, calculated to
sap the physical health, if not to disturb the pure elements of moral
feeling, principle, and delicacy, without which woman becomes only an
object of contempt.

Up until the arrival of the "Fly" at the hotel, the gray dusk of
morning, together with the thick black veil to which we have alluded,
added to that natural politeness which prevents a gentleman from staring
at a lady who may wish to avoid observation--owing to these causes, we
say, the stranger had neither inclination nor opportunity to recognize
the features of Lucy Gourlay. When the coach drew up, however, with that
courtesy and attention that are always due to the sex, and, we may add,
that are very seldom omitted with a pretty travelling companion, the
stranger stepped quickly out of it in order to offer her assistance,
which was accepted silently, being acknowledged only by a graceful
inclination of the head. When, however, on leaving the darkness of the
vehicle he found her hand and arm tremble, and had sufficient light to
recognize her through the veil, he uttered an exclamation expressive at
once of delight, wonder, and curiosity.

"Good God, my dear Lucy," said he in a low whisper, so as not to let
his words reach other ears, "how is this? In heaven's name, how does it
happen that you travel by a common night coach, and are here at such an
hour?"

She blushed deeply, and as she spoke he observed that her voice was
infirm and tremulous: "It is most unfortunate," she replied, "that we
should both have travelled in the same conveyance. I request you will
instantly leave me."

"What! leave you alone and unattended at this hour?"

"I am not unattended," she replied; "that faithful creature, though
somewhat blunt and uncouth in her manners, is all truth and attachment,
so far as I at least am concerned. But I beg you will immediately
withdraw. If we are seen holding conversation, or for a moment in
each other's society, I cannot tell what the consequences may be to my
reputation."

"But, my dear Lucy," replied the stranger