"For shame, before the young lady!" said Mr. Beatson, holding the hackney-coachman: "have done disputing so loud."

"I've done, but she is wrong," cried Terence.

"I've done, put he is wrong," said Betty.

Terence was so much provoked by the Welshwoman, that he declared he would not carry her a step further in his coach--that his _beasts_ were tired, and that he must be paid his fare, for that he neither could nor would wait any longer. Betty Williams was desired by Angelina to pay him. She hesitated; but after being a.s.sured by Miss Warwick that the debt should be punctually discharged in a few hours, she acknowledged that she had silver enough "in a little box at the bottom of her pocket;" and, after much fumbling, she pulled out a snuff-box, which, she said, had been given to her by her "creat crandmother."--Whilst she was paying the coachman, the printer's devil observed one end of a piece of lace hanging out of her pocket; she had, by accident, pulled it out along with the snuff-box.

"And was this your great grandmother's too?" said the printer's devil, taking hold of the lace.

Betty started. Angelina was busy, making inquiries from the printer, and she did not see or hear what was pa.s.sing close to her: the coachman was intent upon the examination of his shillings. Betty, with great a.s.surance, reproved the printer's devil for touching such lace with his plack fingers.

"'Twas not my Grandmother's--'tis the young lady's," said she: "let it pe, pray--look how you have placked it, and marked it, with plack fingers."

She put the stolen lace hastily into her pocket, and immediately went out, as Miss Warwick desired, to call another coach.

Before we follow our heroine to Mrs. Bertrand's, we must beg leave to go, and, if we can, to transport our readers with us, to Lady Frances Somerset's house, at Clifton.

CHAPTER IV.

"Well, how I am to get up this hill again, Heaven knows!" said Lady Diana Chillingworth, who had been prevailed upon to walk down Clifton Hill to the Wells. "Heigho! that sister of mine, Lady Frances, walks, and talks, and laughs, and admires the beauties of nature till I'm half dead."

"Why, indeed, Lady Frances Somerset, I must allow," said Miss Burrage, "is not the fittest companion in the world for a person of your ladyship's nerves; but then it is to be hoped that the gla.s.s of water which you have just taken fresh at the pump will be of service, provided the racketing to Bristol to the play don't counteract it, and undo all again."

"How I dread going into that Bristol playhouse!" said Miss Burrage to herself--"some of my precious relations may be there to claim me. My aunt Dinah--G.o.d bless her for a starched quaker--wouldn't be seen at a play, I'm sure--so she's safe;--but the odious sugar-baker's daughters might be there, dizened out; and between the acts, their great tall figures might rise in judgment against me--spy me out--stare and curtsy--pop--pop--pop at me without mercy, or bawl out across the benches, 'Cousin Burrage! Cousin Burrage!' And Lady Diana Chillingworth to hear it!--oh, I should sink into the earth."

"What amus.e.m.e.nt," continued Miss Burrage, addressing herself to Lady Di., "what amus.e.m.e.nt Lady Frances Somerset can find at a Bristol playhouse, and at this time of the year too, is to me really unaccountable."

"I do suppose," replied Lady Diana, "that my sister goes only to please that child--(Clara Hope, I think they call her)--not to please me, I'm sure;--but what is she doing all this time in the pump-room? does she know we are waiting for her?--oh, here she comes.--Frances, I am half dead."

"Half dead, my dear! well, here is something to bring you to life again," said Lady Frances: "I do believe I have found out Miss Warwick."

"I am sure, my dear, _that_ does not revive me--I've been almost plagued to death with her already," said Lady Diana.

"There's no living in this world without plagues of some sort or other--but the pleasure of doing good makes one forget them all: here, look at this advertis.e.m.e.nt, my dear," said Lady Frances: "a gentleman, whom I have just met with in the pump-room, was reading it in the newspaper when I came in, and a whole knot of scandal-mongers were settling who it could possibly be. One snug little man, a Welsh curate, I believe, was certain it was the bar-maid of an inn at Bath, who is said to have inveigled a young n.o.bleman into matrimony. I left the Welshman in the midst of a long story, about his father and a young lady, who lost her shoe on the Welsh mountains, and I ran away with the paper to bring it to you."

Lady Diana received the paper with an air of reluctance.

"Was not I very fortunate to meet with it?" said Lady Frances.

"I protest I see no good fortune in the business, from beginning to end."

"Ah, because you are not come to the end yet--look--'tis from Mrs. Hoel, of the inn at Cardiffe, and by the date, she must have been there last week."

"Who--Mrs. Hoel?"

"Miss Warwick, my dear--I beg pardon for my p.r.o.noun--but do read this--eyes--hair--complexion--age--size--it certainly must be Miss Warwick."

"And what then?" said Lady Di, with provoking coldness, walking on towards home.

"Why, then, my dear, you know we can go to Cardiffe to-morrow morning, find the poor girl, and, before any body knows any thing of the matter, before her reputation is hurt, or you blamed, before any harm can happen, convince the girl of her folly and imprudence, and bring her back to you and common sense."

"To common sense, and welcome, if you can; but not to me."

"Not to you!--Nay; but, my dear, what will become of her?"

"Nay; but, my dear Frances, what will the world say?"

"Of her?"

"Of me."

"My dear Di., shall I tell you what the world would say?"

"No, Lady Frances, I'll tell _you_ what the world would say--that Lady Diana Chillingworth's house was an asylum for runaways."

"An asylum for nonsense!--I beg your pardon, sister--but it always provokes me to see a person afraid to do what they think right, because, truly, 'the world will say it is wrong.' What signifies the uneasiness we may suffer from the idle blame or t.i.ttle-tattle of the day, compared with the happiness of a young girl's whole life, which is at stake?"

"Oh, Lady Frances, that is spoken like yourself--I love you in my heart--that's right! that's right!" thought Clara Hope.

Lady Diana fell back a few paces, that she might consult one whose advice she always found agreeable to her own opinions.

"In my opinion," whispered Miss Burrage to Lady Diana, "you are right, quite right, to have nothing more to do with the _happiness_ of a young lady who has taken such a step."

They were just leaving St. Vincent's parade, when they heard the sound of music upon the walk by the river side, and they saw a little boy there, seated at the foot of a tree, playing on the guitar, and singing--

"J'ai quitte mon pays et mes amis, Pour jouer de la guitare, Qui va clin, clin, qui va clin, clin, Qui va clin, clin, clin, clin."

"Ha! my wee wee friend," said Clara Hope, "are you here?--I was just thinking of you, just wishing for you. By gude luck, have you the weeny locket about you that the young lady gave you this morning?--the weeny locket, my bonny boy?"

"Plait-il?" said little Louis.

"He _don't_ understand one word," said Miss Burrage, laughing sarcastically, "he don't understand one word of all your _bonnys_, and _wee wees_ and _weenies_, Miss Hope; he, unfortunately, don't understand broad Scotch, and maybe he mayn't be so great a proficient as you are in _boarding-school_ French; but I'll try if he can understand _me_, if you'll tell me what you want."

"Such a trinket as this," said Clara, showing a locket which hung from her neck.

"Ah oui--yes, I comprehend now," cried the boy, taking from his coat-pocket a small case of trinkets--"la voila!--here is vat de young lady did give me--good young lady!" said Louis, and he produced the locket.

"I declare," exclaimed Miss Burrage, catching hold of it, "'tis Miss Warwick's locket! I'm sure of it--here's the motto--I've read it, and laughed at it twenty times--L'Amie Inconnue."

"When I heard you all talking just now about that description of the young lady in the newspaper, I cude not but fancy," said Clara Hope, "that the lady whom I saw this morning must be Miss Warwick."

"Saw--where?" cried Lady Frances, eagerly.

"At Bristol--at our academy--at Mrs. Porett's," said Clara; "but mark me, she is not there now--I do not ken where she may be now."