ng only the loss of all tranquillity of mind. The lawyer he
employed neglected (and very naturally) a suit which would have
required on his part large advances, the repayment of which was very
precarious.

In this predicament he bethought himself of making an appeal to Mrs
Vincent, the lady whom he had benefited by his simple and
straightforward honesty; not that he held her under any peculiar
obligation to him; what he had done was by no means to oblige her; it
was strictly a self-obligation; he could not have acted otherwise, let
the consequences have been what they might. But he reasoned with
himself, that the annuity of which he was deprived would fall into the
general residue of the estate, and be in fact paid to her; and as he
could not believe that she would wish to profit by the villany of Sir
John, he thought there could be nothing derogatory to him, nor
exacting upon her, if he proposed to relinquish entirely his legal
claim upon the estate, and receive the annuity from her hands. She
must surely be desirous, he thought, to fulfil the solemn engagements
of her deceased parent. Full of these cogitations, he betook himself
to London, where Mrs Vincent had established herself.

The reader must imagine himself introduced into an elegantly furnished
drawing-room, in one of the most fashionable quarters of the
metropolis. Had we any talent for the description of the miracles of
upholstery, it would be a sin to pass over so superb and tasteful a
scene without a word. But the little descriptive power we possess must
be reserved for the lady who was sitting in the midst of one of those
domestic miniature palaces, of which the "interiors" of London could
present so great a number. Mrs Vincent had lately become a widow, at
the opening of our narrative, and was therefore still dressed in
black. But though in black, or rather perhaps on that very account,
her attire was peculiarly costly. In black only can magnificence of
apparel be perfectly allied with purity of taste. And certainly
nothing could harmonize better than the rich satin dress, and the
superb scarf of lace which fell over it with such a gorgeous levity. A
pope in his highest day of festival might have coveted that lace.
Between the black satin and the light folds of the scarf, relieved by
the one, and tempered, and sometimes half hidden by the other, played
a diamond cross, which might have been the ransom of a Great Mogul.
The features of Mrs Vincent were