self reviewing it so calmly. The exercise was indeed a welcome relief to the excitement and distress of mind which this discovery had caused. Unhappy Falkland! who could wish that his life had been spared? And so changed as he was in every way, not only in feature, but in manner and mind! Yorke remembered now, what had not struck him at the time, that his ill-starred friend had not once asked him a single question about himself. Everything that had happened since his own misfortune seemed to be a blank to him, save what affected the unhappy woman whose fate was bound up with his own forlorn existence. He was still as unselfish and noble minded as ever; — was not his present life one continued act of devotion and self-denial? — but the Falkland he once knew would have turned the conversation away from his own adventures and interests to inquiries about the life and aims of his friend. But suffering and misfortune had broken down his once strong character.
Such were the sad reflections that came uppermost to Yorke tramping through the mud and rain, till on reaching the station he took his seat in a carriage full of noisy people returning from some convivial entertainment at Castleroyal, who had evidently taken as much wine as they could carry, and whose boisterous merriment seemed like a devilish satire on the sufferings of the unhappy persons whom he had just left by the river-side — the unfortunate wife all unconscious in her loneliness of the presence of the still more unhappy husband, close by, but hiding from her.
Arrived at his lodgings, and letting himself in, Yorke went to his room without disturbing the people of the house, to lie tossing on his bed, recalling the sad scenes which he had witnessed, seeking in vain for a way of deliverance for the unfortunate husband and wife from the difficulty which beset them. But in the end nature asserted itself; young, healthy, and tired, he at last fell asleep, and slept as soundly as if there had been nothing to disturb his rest.
CHAPTER LIV.
It was late when Yorke awoke next day; for the houskeeper, unaware of his return, had not called him, and the forenoon was well advanced before he got to the hotel where Mrs. Polwheedle was staying.
The lady was at home and received him in the public sitting-room, unoccupied at the time by any one else. Mrs. Polwheedle, like the rest of the world, had grown older since he saw her last, more than seven years before, on the day following the relief of the residency, and was no longer to be called a middle-aged lady; but she carried her years well, and, attired in decent half-mourning, she seeded softer and pleasanter than of yore. Accosting her visitor with warmth as an old friend, she seemed suddenly to be quite affected at seeing him; and a certain amount of tearfull emotion on her part, and friendly condolence on his, had to be gone through before, on his taking a seat beside her on a big velvet couch at the end of the large room, she plunged into the business which had led her to summon him.
"Oh, Mr. Yorke, — Colonel Yorke, I mean — I beg your pardon I'm sure, but there have been so many changes since we met, and when my dear Polwheedle" — here the handkerchief came again into requisition, and Yorke waited patiently till she was able to proceed, — "Oh, Colonel Yorke, I have seen — what do you think? — you will hardly believe me, but it is true — who do you think I have seen? I have seen him with my own eyes, — Falkland, poor Falkland — that we all made sure was killed — come back to life!" and her emotion struggling with the excitement at having such news to communicate, Mrs. Polwheedle fairly burst into tears.
"Yes," she said, as soon as she was sufficiently composed to be able to find words again, "I am sure there is no mistake about it; I wish there was, God forgive me for saying so. I was coming up from Tunbridge — I was staying there on a visit to the John Polwheedles — poor dear Polwheedle's younger brother, you know — they have a very nice place, and keep their carriage, and everything very comfortable: well, I had got to the station and was looking after my luggage — for one is obliged to look after one's own things in this country, with so many bad characters about — when a lady, at least I don't know that she was a lady exactly, but she was very well-dressed, with a real seal-skin jacket, trimmed with elegant fur; but Lor' bless me! everybody dresses well in England nowadays, there is such heaps of money: well, this lady slipped and fell on the pavement — at least she would have fallen if a gentlemen had not caught her. He had on a large cloak and a big slouched hat. There she lay in his arms — his arm, I should say, for, poor fellow, he had lost the other; and of course a little crowd began to collect, and I was looking out for
