CHAPTER XIV.

"De tout ce qui t'aimoit n'est'il plus rien qui t'aime ?"

"Art thou then desolate

LAMARTINE.

Of friends, of hopes forsaken ?"

MRS. HEMANS.

A HIRED Coach was passing, early one afternoon, through the most fashionable locale of the metropolis, mingling with the gay and grand equipages, dashing through the streets and squares the driver receiving the impudent retorts of his craft, the contemptuous rebuffs of his more exalted compeers, or the passing jokes of his equals, with as much unceremonious

freedom, as if his employer had been the shabbiest man or coarsest woman, that ever hailed him from his stand in the streets of London.

No, it was evident that Aline's hack coachman had little taste for an appreciation of the fair, the young, or the delicate among his fares, or he would certainly have bridled his tongue, and driven with more tender consideration for her nerves and feelings.

The high bred Aline had never perhaps felt so great a load of depression and discomfort weigh down her spirit as now - during this rattling, noisy drive, with the hot sun glaring in through the uncurtained windows, the rude straw carpeting her dainty feet.

For outward circumstances, let philosophers say what they will, have a wonderfully influential effect upon the feelings of the inward man, and although her present object would have been one indeed of nervous excitement, under any consideration, Aline's frame of mind might certainly have been of an easier—a more

cheerful character, had an equipage less unpleasing to her sense and sensibility, borne her to her destination.

During the absence of her husband, she had -unknown to him-set forth upon her present anxious adventure. Having ordered the coach in which we now find her proceeding, she had emerged from her house, nerved, as she had imagined, to brave all the difficulties and discomforts which might attend the expedition.

It was not the first time she had thus traversed the streets of the metropolis.-No! how joyfully had she often sprung into a similar conveyance in the course of her expeditions with "Uncle George," how far more joyfully than into her parents' well appointed equipages. It was therefore, no spurious pride or vain delicacy, which influenced her, but circumstances do so completely colour our feelings on such occasions.

Poor Aline ! she sat, in her lonely discomfort, nervous, anxious and ashamed, first bending

forward with sorrowfully distended eyes to see

the progress she was making, then sinking back, sick at heart-those eyes all tearful-her lips all quivering-as familiar places, recalling familiar memories, swam before her dizzy sight.

As for the chance of being recognised, that fear did not even occur to her, so lonely-so strange-so alienated did she feel from her former sphere of existence. And yet she was going to her father's house, the house of her birth -that house in which her mother died-praying that the child for whom she was called to give up her young life, might prove her husband's joy, pride and comfort!

And that same child was coming now to that father's door, to sue for pardon and acceptance-pardon for the act which had plunged him in anger, and in sorrow far more bitter than anger.

My readers! had not poor Aline indeed good right to look pale, even as death, when the coach -too soon for her wildly beating heart,-rattled

round Hyde Park Corner, and the driver, pulling up with a sudden dexterous jerk, arrested their course before the very familiar door bearing the number to which he had been directed.

And then he descended.

Whilst Aline, as the man

ran up the broad

steps to give his most hacknified knock and ring, leaned back, hiding her face in her hands.

She could not have raised her eyes to the house for worlds, though at the barred windows on high, she could so well image to herself little faces of brother and sisters peeping out, towards whom her heart sprung forth with renewed yearnings to behold.

"Who must I ask for Miss?" and the coachman stood by her side, touching his hat interrogatively. Aline started and hastily handed him a note she held ready in her hand.

"Give that!" she said faintly, and returning with it to the door-thrown open at that moment-he presented it to the porter, who glanced disparagingly at the equipage, to which