"I thank you from my heart," said I, warmly, seizing and pressing Lady
Roseville's hand. "You tell me what I have long suspected; I am now upon
my guard, and they shall find that I can offend as well as defend. But it
is no time for me to boast; oblige me by informing me of the name of my
unknown friend; I little thought there was a being in the world who would
stir three steps for Henry Pelham."

"'That friend," replied Lady Roseville, with a faltering voice and a
glowing cheek, "was Sir Reginald Glanville."

"What!" cried I, "repeat the name to me again, or--" I paused, and
recovered myself. "Sir Reginald Glanville," I resumed haughtily, "is too
gracious to enter into my affairs. I must be strangely altered if I need
the officious zeal of any intermeddler to redress my wrongs."

"Nay, Mr. Pelham," said the countess, hastily, "you do Glanville--you do
yourself injustice. For him, there never passes a day in which he does
not mention you with the highest encomiums and the most affectionate
regard. He says, of late, that you have altered towards him, but that he
does not blame you--he never mentions the cause; if I am not intruding,
suffer me to inquire into it; perhaps (oh! how happy it would make me) I
may be able to reconcile you; if you knew--if you could but guess half of
the noble and lofty character of Reginald Glanville, you would suffer no
petty difference to divide you."

"It is no petty difference," said I, rising, "nor am I permitted to
mention the cause. Meanwhile, may God bless you, dearest Lady Roseville,
and preserve that kind and generous heart from worse pangs than those of
disappointed ambition, or betrayed trust."