made him too proud to bustle, and too philosophical to shine--were of
service to him on this occasion, and preserved him from the danger into
which he might otherwise have fallen. He could not be persuaded to act:
the fair Fanny gave up the attempt in despair. "Yet stay with us," said
she, tenderly, "and share my poor earnings."

Godolphin started; and in the wonderful contradictions of the proud human
heart, this generous offer from the poor actress gave him a distaste, a
displeasure, that almost reconciled him to parting from her. It seemed to
open to him at once the equivocal mode of life he had entered upon. "No,
Fanny," said he, after a pause, "I am here because I resolved to be
independent: I cannot, therefore, choose dependence."

"Miss Millinger is wanted instantly for rehearsal," said the little girl
who acted fairies and old women, putting her head suddenly into the room.

"Bless me!" cried Fanny, starting up; "is it so late? Well, I must go
now. Good-bye! look in upon us--do!"

But Godolphin, moody and thoughtful, walked into the street; and lo! the
first thing that greeted his eyes was a handbill on the wall, describing
his own person, and offering twenty guineas reward for his detention.
"Let him return to his afflicted parent," was the conclusion of the bill,
"and all shall be forgiven."

Godolphin crept back to his apartment; wrote a long, affectionate letter
to Fanny; inclosed her his watch, as the only keepsake in his power; gave
her his address at Saville's; and then, towards dusk, once more sallied
forth, and took a place in the mail for London. He had no money for his
passage, but his appearance was such that the coachman readily trusted