Chapter XXI

A little time elapsed, and the changeful Angelo, steady only in his fickleness, became gradually less bigotted to the society of the uneducated Milborough, and more addicted to his favourite habit of gaming, and which, as has been before observed, in consequence of his boundlessly increased expences, he now resorted to, as much for profit as pleasure. But fortune grew daily more unkind; she still fled, he still pursued, and in the true spirit of a gamester, he determined that he would not desist from the chace while he retained the power of continuing it, or if he felt his courage on the wane, he recruited it by plentiful libations to the rosy god.

One night, having lost to a considerable amount, goaded on by rage, by a despairing hope, and that resistless impulse which ever actuates the real gamester, he drank off a bumper of the Tuscan juice, and then, inspired with a false courage, determined in a phrenzy, to push fortune to the utmost, and not to quit the table whilst a possibility of staking aught remained, till he had endeavoured at least to cover the whole of his losses. He persevered, he was resolute, and his resolution cost him dear; he staked to the amount of every guinea he possessed, he followed it up by all he could call his, the house in which Gabrielle still continued to drag on her lingering existence, his equipages, horses, plate, &c. and it was not till he discovered that nothing more remained which he had a right to stake, (for the house in which Milborough resided was not his,) that he recovered his senses to lose them again almost immediately in madness of a different description, and to rush a pennyless beggar from the abode of ruin which late as that very night he had entered in comparative affluence.

The chief of his property had been lost, or rather transferred to one person--that person _his dearest and most intimate friend_, one with whom he had sometimes played with success, but more frequently to manifest disadvantage; he was steady, politic, and cool, and found it no difficult matter generally to come off conqueror from one who was rash, inconsiderate, without sufficient judgment to direct, and without patience to abide by the little he possessed. This friend, who, though a man of the world, possessed some feeling, perceiving the confusion and horror of Angelo painted in his countenance, seized him by the hand, and cordially shaking it, bade him not let dame Fortune obtain a victory over the spirit of his soul, adding that he might settle the affair between them at his leisure, as it was furthest from his wish to trouble or _inconvenience_ him.

Such the language of the world, such the consolation of their friendship; and even Ellesmere; the successful gamester, possessed a greater share of feeling than usually belongs to that class of beings, who not only remorselessly strip each other of all they possess, but attempt neither to hide their exultation nor speak a word of consolation, however vain, to the wretch they have driven to ruin and desperation. In a state of madness, such however as left him of sense sufficient to feel his woe, Angelo reached the only spot which strictly speaking he might presume to enter, the abode of Milborough; he rushed into the room, where she was sitting carelessly singing an air with Felix; one hand he pressed to his burning forehead, the other was stretched wildly towards them, as bidding them cease; his glazed eyes wandered around, his cheek glowed with a feverish red, his brow was writhed, his hair dishevelled, his vest torn open, and his whole appearance the wildest image of frenzy and despair, personified in the ruined gamester;

“For Heaven’s sake, what has happened, Angelo?” exclaimed Milborough, starting up. Angelo made no reply, but gazing on her, burst into a convulsive laugh.

“Good God! he is certainly mad,” cried the unfeeling Milborough, rushing toward the bell.

“Stay, Milborough,” he exclaimed, violently seizing her arm, roused by her remark, and the action which accompanied it, “I am not yet quite mad, but I soon shall be; I am ruined, stripped of every guinea I possess; I have not,” he cried, raising his voice to frenzy, “no, I have not wherewithal to procure _bread_ for to-morrow,”--and at the horrible conviction, his eyes rolled wildly round.

At this explanation the countenance of Milborough suddenly changed, her selfish terrors gave place to other ideas, but no less selfish; had Angelo spoken for ever, he could not have said _more_ to her than was confirmed in the few words he had uttered in the short sentence, “_I am ruined!_” After the pause of a moment, her countenance again underwent a change, she drew near him; and taking his hand she said, “Is this all, my dearest Angelo?”

“All!--all!” interrupted Angelo, “is it not enough?”

“Certainly it is dreadful, but not sufficient to throw you into despair. One lucky cast might yet retrieve all, perhaps.”

“Woman!” raved Angelo, “have I not told you that I am beggared! that I have no longer a claim to the chance of another cast!--or--or do you think I would, like a _coward_, have retreated?” added he, breathing the desperate defiance of the gamester.

“Well, well, my dearest Angelo, compose yourself, a glass of wine will do you service. Fly, Felix, and procure some wine for my lord.”

Angelo with a desponding groan threw himself into a chair; wine was brought, Milborough poured him out a full goblet, and presenting it to him, entreated that he would drink; fevered with heat, and his mouth parched, mechanically he took the wine, and swallowed it.

By dint of persuasion she prevailed on him to drink a second glass, a third and fourth then rapidly followed: from the madness of despair, Angelo was passing fast into the madness of intoxication! his cares began to assume an aspect less terrific, and the exhilirating hope which is inspired by wine, caused the future to appear less gloomy; by degrees his moody despondency vanished, and, as had been the secret aim of Milborough, he applied spontaneously to the bottle for that seducing influence, which sweetly blinded him to the frightful reality of his situation.

Milborough now ventured carelessly to revert to it: “But, my dear Angelo,” she observed, “surely every thing is not as bad as you think; you have sufficient, I trust, to cover all; then you might retire upon a little.”

“Upon nothing, you mean! I can never redeem myself.”

“But, my lord,” cried Felix, “could you not collect all you have at present in your possession, and make your escape to the Continent?”

Angelo, nearly intoxicated, irritable, and still alive to a certain sense of honour, looking fiercely at his son, seized him by the arm, and for the first time in his life inflicted on him a blow, and inflicted it unjustly, for assuredly it was no fault in the youth, that education had not instilled into him proper principles, or given him correct ideas.

He did not speak; his young heart swelled with indignant fury, he looked at his father with flashing eyes, and face of fire; it was the first correction he had ever received; it was violent, and he had never been accustomed to any; he knew not how to endure it, he was bursting to resent! a feeling of fear alone restrained him, and tears of impotent rage rushed to his eyes! Milborough glanced at him significantly, and affecting not to notice the violence of Angelo, observed, “But you have money to a large amount in the house, that you received from your banker the other day, that surely may be saved, and at all events will----”

“I must have that too; all will be insufficient.”

“But you forget how much it is; lend me the key of your cabinet, and I will bring it to you.”

“Do you suppose it has increased since I placed it there?” cried Angelo, throwing down the key, “I know too well that all will be insufficient.”

“Well,” said Milborough, carelessly taking up the key, which she twisted around her finger, “it will at all events be a satisfaction to calculate;” so saying she went towards the door, when suddenly returning, she exclaimed, “But I forgot, I must not leave you, Angelo, I shall have you getting gloomy again; come, take another glass of wine, and banish care.”

Angelo heaved a sigh, and hastily drank off the wine; then leaning his head upon his hand, he remained absorbed in gloomy silence: he had returned, harassed, fatigued, exhausted, at an unusually late hour; it was now getting dawn; his eyes were closed, his ideas became confused, his heavy head dropped from his hand, and he fell into a profound slumber.

No sooner did Milborough perceive that the wine had taken its desired effect on him, than silently she rose and beckoned Felix, (who was sternly brooding over the blow he had received,) from the room. Rising, involuntarily with caution, he followed her out.

“Go,” said Milborough in a whisper, “if any of the servants remain up, tell them they may retire, afterwards come to me to the chamber of your father.”

Felix left her, to act as she had desired, while she, hastening to the chamber of Angelo, remained at the door waiting his return. In a few moments Felix appeared; Milborough placed her finger on her lip, and in a low voice he said, “I found only one servant up, and he was in so deep a sleep that I could not awake him.”

“I am sorry you attempted it,” said Milborough, hastening as lightly as she could down the stairs to the room where Felix informed her the servant was sleeping; and then gently locking the door upon him, retraced her steps to the chamber of Angelo, still accompanied by Felix. Having entered, she closed the door; approaching his cabinet, she coolly unlocked it, and taking thence all the gold she could find, together with jewels to a considerable amount, among which were those that had appertained to Gabrielle, and which she had obtained from Angelo by fraudulent artifice, she gave them into the hands of Felix, saying, “Let us at all events secure these from the Count’s creditors; it would be a pity they should obtain all: as for these jewels they are mine, and they have no right to them.”

Felix acquiesced readily in her idea, and accepted the things from her hands. “Now then,” said she, “Felix, be light and cautious; descend the stairs--for we quit this house for ever.”

“Whither to go?” inquired Felix.

“Far from hence, but where we shall be safe.”

“And my father?” cried Felix, half anxiously, half resentfully.

“He will _follow_ us, perhaps: but did he not strike you just now, without provocation? why inquire about him? trust to me, my dear boy, and let us go at once.”

Felix frowned, and blushed with indignant shame, at the recollection. “It _was_ without provocation,” said he, and hesitated no longer.

Milborough stepped lightly towards her chamber; she wrapped herself in a cloak which covered her entirely, and divested her dress of all attraction; she then proceeded down stairs with almost breathless caution. Felix followed; they reached the hall; Milborough remained a moment to secure about her own person the jewels with which she had loaded him, then silently unlocking the door she closed, without venturing to shut it, and proceeded with rapid pace along the street.

As it was the height of summer, and perfectly light at an early hour, they passed along completely unnoticed and unopposed. The object of Milborough was to get by the quickest possible conveyance to Dover, to arrive ere suspicion could surmise her route, and from thence embarking for the Continent, her fears of pursuit would be at an end. In all she had proposed, she succeeded even beyond her most sanguine speculations; she reached Dover early, and without interruption, and a little time after found herself in perfect safety on the shores of France. Here, for a time, with her youthful and misguided companion, let us leave her, and return to the wretched but justly punished Angelo.

A few hours after the departure of Milborough, he was awakened by a violent noise; opening his heavy eyes, he found himself lying on the floor, and the expiring flame of a taper burning in the socket and emitting a faint irregular light through the closed apartment.

The noise which had roused him still continuing, he instinctively started up, and hastened towards the spot from whence it seemed to proceed: it was a loud knocking, and appeared to come from the lower offices of the house; he followed the sound, and soon discovered that it was occasioned by his servant, who awaking in alarm, and endeavouring to quit his situation for the purpose of retiring to bed, found his intention frustrated by his inability to open the door, which had been fastened upon him; in consequence of this discovery, conceiving robbers were, or had been in the house, in the greatest trepidation he had essayed his utmost to make himself heard. Angelo having emancipated him, began to recover his senses; he now clearly remembered that he had not been in bed for the night, but could by no means reconcile to himself why he should have been suffered to remain asleep upon the ground, alone too, and not have been conveyed to bed. His whirling head informed him that he had drank inordinately, and he concluded, that overpowered with sleep, he had fallen on the floor. But as this was a circumstance by no means unfrequent with him, and he was in such cases always attended carefully to bed, why had he been now abandoned with this most singular neglect and indifference?

Rage began to kindle in his bosom, and hastily he sought the chamber of Milborough, to upbraid her in the severest terms for the impropriety of her conduct, and the want of regard she had evinced for him. He had questioned the servant with respect to his confinement, but receiving from him only the most unsatisfactory replies, that he neither knew nor could surmise, he dismissed him with intemperate revilings for his stupidity, and hastened to the chamber of Milborough, expecting from her explanation of this circumstance and of her own apparently unfeeling neglect.

Entering her room, with an exclamation of reproach on his lips, he perceived immediately that she was not there, nor had even been in bed! For a moment, he stood amazed, then swiftly retreating, sought his own apartment, unknowing what to expect. There the first and only object which struck him, was his cabinet open, and its assemblage of drawers dragged out to their fullest extent, and completely empty! At this alarming sight involuntarily he struck his forehead with his clenched hand, as an idea, too dreadful to indulge, glanced like lightning through his brain! He rushed trembling towards the cabinet, examined it nearer, brought every drawer completely forth, and cast them on the ground, as if he desired some stronger confirmation than visual sense could give him of the dreadful view which presented itself! It was but too true; he found indeed that he had been plundered of all they contained, and, aghast with horror, he stood for a moment unable even yet to credit that he was perfectly awake.

All his gold, his jewels, even to a far greater amount, had vanished! his dreadful situation, stern and unrelenting, was revealed before him, and with a bitter cry, rushing from the room, he flew into every apartment, loudly vociferating the name of Milborough, and hoping still, in the midst of his despair, that in some remote corner of the house he might yet discover her, even though manacled, and dying perhaps for assistance; all, anything, but that she should have fled in a moment like the present!

In vain he called, in vain he searched, Milborough answered not; his fears then reverted to his son; he sought his chamber, he was not there either, he replied not to his agonized repeated call; then sinking overpowered on a chair, he clasped his hands in horror; the whole truth, the fearful truth, broke without mercy and without reserve upon his mind; no longer could he doubt _Milborough_ was his plunderer, his _son_ the companion of her flight!

While thus he remained, the servant he had with anger so unjust dismissed, rushed into the room, and with a countenance of terror, observed that he had discovered the door of the hall to be open, that he apprehended the worst, but had not courage to search the house alone. “Go, go--I know,” cried the sick and fainting Angelo, “I know all--retire.”

The wild abstraction of his air alarmed the servant, who precipitately obeyed, and left the room. Gloomily musing, he still remained immoveable; ruin was certain, it could not be accumulated, nothing now could make it more than ruin, and he felt in that state, when the mind, conscious it has reached the climax of woe, is incapable from that dreadful consciousness of dreading aught as an increase.

Such are the retributions the guilty experience from the guilty, such the rewards of the libertine for yielding up his soul to meretricious allurement, and expecting an unfeigned love and gratitude from her, whose smiles, like the butterfly in summer, are only for the sunshine of prosperity, and who looks forward to the hour of adversity as the season of her harvest! on that she seizes, and faithful only to her interest, remorselessly abandons the deluded victim on whom she has entailed destruction.

Some time did the wretched Angelo continue thus tottering as it were on the verge of madness, yet struggling to be reasonable; now wildly his thoughts dwelt on Felix, his boy so fondly yet so injuriously loved. Why had the monster robbed him of his son, his dearest treasure? Confused, bewildered, as he was, the suggestion was obvious. She had made Felix the companion of her flight, to evade the probability of pursuit; for with that vile artifice peculiar to such as her, justly and cunningly had she calculated, that however Angelo, aroused from his infatuation by her conduct, might determine to pursue her with justice, when he reflected that by so doing he must implicate his son, who must of necessity have been privy to the transaction, of which too she could adduce proof, he would abstain altogether from the attempt, anxious rather, however deep a sufferer he might have been, to give as little publicity as possible to the event; besides, he might hope by his forbearance towards her, to induce her to remand voluntarily the youth to him; whereas if he listened only to his revenge, she might not only secrete him for ever, but through him bring dishonour upon his name.

Suddenly Angelo started up from the supineness of despair; he remembered the obligations under which he existed, and the necessity there was for his seeing Ellesmere that day. It was requisite he should impart to him the whole of what had happened. With this idea pressing on his mind, he hastily rushed from the house, but scarcely had he gained the street than it was displaced by another, which preserved the ascendancy; his first purpose was forgotten, the image of the unfortunate Gabrielle stood before him. Should Ellesmere, as he was certainly entitled to do, have waved courtesy, and promptly insisted upon his right, she might at this moment be even destitute of a home.

Something like a sensation of horror and remorse shot through his heart; quick as lightning he directed his steps towards the spot where she had continued to linger, and arriving at the house, with impatient violence assailed the door. The instant it was opened, he flew past the servant without an inquiry, and bounding up the well known long deserted stair-case, sought unannounced the apartment where Gabrielle usually sat. She was not there, and he heard the voice of the servant behind him, who informed him she was in her chamber; thither he hastily proceeded, and bursting open the door, with wild disordered look he stood before her.

Gabrielle, pale, emaciated, the image of settled hopeless melancholy, lay extended upon a couch, almost too feeble to move. At the sight of Angelo, so long estranged from her eyes, and with air and countenance that spoke some dire ill, her weakened nerves were nearly overpowered, a hectic blush of terror and agitation flushed her hollow cheek; not that she dreaded for herself an accumulation of sorrow, of insult, or of outrage, for that was impossible, but she apprehended, she knew not what, and made an attempt to rise from her recumbent posture.

“Stay, stay,” cried Angelo with a frenzied look, laying his hand upon her shoulder, “where would you go? remain--remain, while yet you may.”

“What!” cried the enfeebled Gabrielle, with a wild indignant look, while the tears rushed to her eyes,--“do you come to drive me hence? Well, well, be it so, I am ready.”

“I!--no, no; but do you not know? have you not seen Ellesmere? this house is no longer mine.”

“What mean you, Angelo? or is this but an unworthy subterfuge to drive me hence? Say--say openly--since it is your will; I shall endeavour to gain strength,--to _die elsewhere_!”

She rose, and leaning on the back of the couch, like a pale spectre she stood immoveable.

“Hear me! hear me, Gabrielle!” cried Angelo; and in the effort he made to explain to her the truth, reason a little recovered her empire, “I have no longer a house, nor you a home; I am become a beggar! you are so likewise! This house, together with all I once possessed, last night became forfeit, and now appertains to Ellesmere! Say then, have you no pity for me, Gabrielle! can you not feel?--Pity, did I say! ah, what would it avail to a wretch like me, ruined, ruined, past redemption!” He sank into a chair beside him, devoid of energy, and his senses again began to wander.

Gabrielle became sensible of renovated strength, her firm elastic mind rose beneath oppression, with towering dignity; her faintly throbbing heart beat quicker, her languid pulse with accelerated motion; she was no longer feeble; with steady step she approached the nerveless Angelo, and laying her burning hand upon his arm, she said, “Tell me, Angelo, why in this moment have you thought of me? what have you done with Milborough? where is my son?”

“Why question me thus?” returned Angelo without raising his eyes from the ground, “but if you would know--where one is, there is the other likewise; learn moreover, and triumph--both have plundered me of all, and fled!”

Gabrielle spoke not; she raised her eyes, and lifted her fair hands to Heaven, while the expression of her fine countenance was, “God! thou hast punished him enough; now is it for me to sooth!” The loss of her child conveyed an acute pang to her heart; but the youth loved her not, and, all excellent, all amiable as she was, it was not in nature for this reflection to be wholly without effect. Angelo she beheld before her, in a state such as implored oblivion of his errors; her noble soul forgave that unconquerable yet unjustifiable pride imbued in his very nature, which, guilty as he must feel himself, had not yet permitted him to acknowledge his culpability and sue for pardon at her feet; she knew well his was a mind which required to be softened, rather than reproached into submission.

In the moment of adversity, he had thought of her; she was now all he possessed, and cruelly as he had outraged her, he did justice to the magnanimity of her mind and feelings. He had appeared before her a wretch weighed down with crime and misfortune. He might have yielded to a sense of shame, and shunned her still; but no, he had humbled himself in her sight, by permitting her to behold him thus punished, his conduct to herself avenged, and had beseeched the pity of her whom most he had injured.

These noble sentiments, these liberal constructions, too liberal indeed towards Angelo, whose weakness in the hour of adversity, requiring the aid of firm and energetic friendship, had had equal, if not superior share in precipitating him into her presence, awakened her heart in his favour; and with the benignity of a pitying angel she bent over him in compassion; consolation appeared to her to have become a duty, and in a sweet soothing voice she said,--“Angelo, arouse yourself, despair is impious; since your situation is such as you have described, let us consider only what remains to be done.”

Angelo raised his lurid eyes, and fixed them upon Gabrielle; he beheld a countenance which resembled that of a sorrowing Madona, his heart was acutely touched: “And is it from _you_ then, oh, ill-fated daughter of Montmorency!” he cried, “is it from you that first I hear the voice of consolation? Oh, Gabrielle! injured Gabrielle,” he added hastily, “unless you would annihilate me at once, unless you would drive me to distraction, speak to me in another voice! look on me with other eyes! let your words be daggers to my heart, and let your glances be stern!”

“No, Angelo,” replied Gabrielle, “at this moment I can cherish against you no feeling of bitterness. I am myself a wretch meriting severest punishment, my crimes exceed yours, and I hail misfortune as salutary chastisement, as a proof that God has not wholly abandoned me, but would purify me for future life, of which otherwise I should be too unworthy! If I grieve, Angelo,--if I grieve, it is--that _you_ should be the instrument of my punishment.” Again her pale face, her humid eyes were raised to Heaven, and she seemed wrapt in the fervour of her divine conceptions.

“Oh, spare me! spare me, heavenly being!” cried Angelo, glancing upon her countenance, and hastily withdrawing his conscious eyes; “sink me not thus low, but be merciful as you are above me! Deign only to reproach me,” he added in a voice of bitter anguish, and bursting into tears.

Gabrielle was recalled to earth; she gazed upon her first love, upon the destroyer of her youth, upon the murderer of her father, upon him who had blighted his honourable hopes and her fair prospects--but she beheld only his tears of agony--his wild dishevelled form!--she forgave her injuries, and pressed his burning head to her bosom.

Angelo sprang from his attitude of despair to throw himself at her feet; he embraced her knees, and kissed them with frantic ardour, and raising his eyes to her countenance, he cried, “Gabrielle, I have betrayed, destroyed, and brought your fair youth to destruction!--I have now become a wretch in misery as well as crime, beggared in every present and future hope! Dare I then say it--it is only now I feel that fully I appreciate your exalted virtue! it is only now, when such appreciation is but mockery to you, that it breaks upon my benighted soul, as the sun first sheds his dazzling rays upon the sight of him who has been for long in dreary blindness! Here then solemnly I swear to Heaven, that I will dedicate to you the residue of my worthless existence. Gabrielle, look down upon me, now sunk into most abject misery; I pledge myself in the sight of the God whom through you I have offended, to make you mine at his holy altar, should you even yet deign to accept me. I pray that he may visit me in all the thunders of his wrath, if ever more I deceive, abandon, or betray you.”

“Rise, Angelo,” cried Gabrielle in a mournfully solemn voice; “I accept your penitence, and would rather become yours at this moment, than in the height of your prosperity. But hear me, I am now childless, I have no dear interests superior to my own that require my consideration; above all I feel that though I should to-morrow become your wife, Heaven would not grant me long to enjoy a title that once would have sounded so sweetly in my ears!--I feel,--yes, I feel, that the death of my father will be, by a just Providence, avenged upon me!--I too am dying of a broken heart.”

Angelo uttered a loud cry; his breast became filled with remorse, and penitence dawned upon his soul.

“Angelo!” said Gabrielle, in that tone of voice which is firm from the long accustomed conviction of having nothing to hope, “Angelo, be composed; since you are once again returned to me, I shall not yet die.”

Angelo could not restrain his tears; he sobbed, but Gabrielle could no longer weep; she made no effort to check the tears of Angelo, for she conceived that they preserved him from despair.

In the midst of this scene, the door opened, and a servant announced the name of Ellesmere; on Angelo it operated like a thunder-clap, but Gabrielle bade that he should be instantly admitted.

He entered with that gay and smiling air usually worn by beings of the world, who never by any chance attempt to anticipate even a moment of the future, enjoying and thinking only of the present. Gabrielle arose at his entrance, and involuntarily awed by the dignified grace of her appearance, he bowed profoundly to her, and advanced to Angelo, whom he seized familiarly by the arm. “D’Albini,” he cried, shaking him, “I am sorry to see you thus crest-fallen; I was in hopes you knew me better than to compare me to a vulgar creditor, I came only now for the very purpose of observing that I had no desire to _incommode_ you. But this house is extremely elegant,” glancing on Gabrielle, “tastefully arranged, the pictures all from Italy, I suppose,--ah! I recognise the vivid landscapes of Claude Lorrain!--the masterly pencil of Correggio!--the brilliant colouring of Domenichino!--the----”

“Sir,” cried Gabrielle, interrupting him, indignant at his loquacity, and the apparent want of feeling displayed by Ellesmere, “the Count D’Albini is indisposed; I have only to observe therefore for him, in return for your polite attention that this house and all that appears to meet your approbation, will be at your disposal by the evening.”

“Oh, by no means,” cried the man of the world, still carelessly looking round upon the pictures, “oh, by no means; nothing on earth would tempt me to inconvenience one of the softer sex, and particularly so fair a creature as yourself,” bowing significantly.

“Sir,” replied Gabrielle, turning aside with dignity from his bold expressive stare, “our arrangements are made; by this evening the house will be yours, wholly yours,--will you for the present permit it to be ours?”

Ellesmere was what is termed a polished gentleman; he perfectly understood the hint of Gabrielle; and he had wit enough to perceive that idle compliments and presumptuous admiration might offend, but could not flatter her; bowing respectfully therefore, he moved towards the door, and as he opened it, he said, “D’Albini, we remain _friends_, I hope, in spite of _what has happened_!--Ah, willingly would I give all Fortune’s favours,” directing his eyes towards Gabrielle, “to be even now situated as you are.”

Angelo endeavoured to command his voice, his pride came to his aid, and he replied, “Undoubtedly we remain friends, why not?”

“Give me then your hand,” cried Ellesmere, “in token of _amity_.”

With a sick smile, Angelo stretched forth his hand, and the _friend_ who had rendered him a beggar, shook it as cordially as though he had been asking him to dinner, bade him adieu with precisely the same smile as he would have worn to congratulate him on some good fortune, and would have felt as much interest in the one, as he now felt regret at the other.

No sooner had Ellesmere departed, than Gabrielle, with that prompt energy which had ever marked her youthful character, determined to employ the few hours that remained till evening, in the service of him who now possessed on earth no friend but herself. For him she forgot anguish long endured, whose baleful effects were for ever remediless, feebleness, pain, indisposition, and this with only the most desolate prospects before her, as the reward for her highest exertion. She persevered nevertheless, and with an alacrity no way inferior to what his best conduct might have claimed, adopted such measures as she conceived best calculated for a speedy and prudential arrangement.

From Angelo she now enquired more particularly of an affair that had been as yet but vaguely related, when it clearly appeared to her that in saying he had lost _all_, he had not exaggerated. Under these circumstances it was only to submit with patience to what was unavoidable; and while Angelo, plunged anew into despair, by the detail of the ruinous transaction in which he had been engaged, remained incapable of action, Gabrielle, a powerful instance of the superiority of mind over matter, was busily employing herself, feeble as she was in body, in hastening the means of final settlement, and departure from an abode, which no longer considering their’s, her pride revolted at remaining in.

Since the desertion of Angelo, she had retained only a couple of domestics in her own service; these she found herself empowered to discharge to their satisfaction, and without their having a wish to remain where gloomy desolation had spread her pinions and prodigality no longer reigned. Her next consideration was to seek some shelter for the night; it was impossible immediately to procure a situation, such as might suit with their present circumstances; she therefore determined to postpone this attempt till the morrow, and to avail themselves for the present of some temporary accommodation, since to remain where they were an hour beyond the appointed time was too repugnant to her feelings.

Thus, ere the arrival of evening, her vigorous management had arranged every necessary step, and they were enabled to take their departure from an abode which she at least could not view with aught of tender regret, from a recollection of the happy hours she had of late passed within its walls.