running up to him, with a message
from his mamma, that she hoped he could come back to see them all play
at snap-dragon before they went to bed, he replied mechanically, hardly
seeming sensible even of the presence of the laughing and breathless
boy, who quickly scampered back again. At length, with a groan that came
from the depths of his heart, Mr. Aubrey rose and walked to and fro,
sensible of the necessity of exertion, and preparing himself, in some
degree, for encountering his mother, his wife, and his sister. Taking up
his candle, he hastened to his dressing-room, where he hoped, by the aid
of refreshing ablutions, to succeed in effacing at least the stronger of
those traces of suffering which his glass displayed to him, as it
reflected the image of his agitated countenance. A sudden recollection
of the critical and delicate situation of his idolized wife, glanced
through his heart like a keen arrow. He sank upon the sofa, and,
clasping his hands, looked indeed forlorn. Presently the door was pushed
hastily but gently open; and, first looking in to see that it was really
he of whom she was in search, in rushed Mrs. Aubrey, pale and agitated,
having been alarmed by his long-continued absence from the
drawing-room, and the look of the servant, from whom she had learned
that his master had been for some time gone up-stairs.

"Charles! my love! my sweet love!" she exclaimed, rushing in, sitting
down beside him, and casting her arms round his neck. Overcome by the
suddenness of her appearance and movements, for a moment he spoke not.

"For mercy's sake--as you love me!--tell me, dearest Charles, what has
happened!" she gasped, kissing him fervently.

"Nothing--love--nothing," he replied; but his look belied his speech.

"Oh! am not I your wife, dearest? Charles, I shall really go distracted
if you do not tell me what has happened!--I know that
something--something dreadful"--He put his arm round her waist, and drew
her tenderly towards him. He felt her heart beating violently. He kissed
her cold forehead, but spoke not.

"Come, dearest!--my own Charles!--let me share your sorrows," said she,
in a thrilling voice. "Cannot you trust your Agnes? Has not Heaven
_sent_ me to share your anxieties and griefs?"

"I love you, Agnes! ay, perhaps more than ever man loved woman!" he
faltered, as he felt her arms folding him in closer and closer embrace;
and she gazed at him with wild agitation, expecting presently to hear of