Amabel faintly murmured her thanks.
"You speak as my husband himself would have spoken," said Mrs. Bloundel. "Ah! we little thought, when we prayed that the pestilence might be averted from us, that a worse calamity was behind, and that one of the most profligate of the courtiers you have mentioned would find his way to our house."
"One of the most profligate of them?" cried Hodges. "Who, in Heaven's name?"
"He calls himself Maurice Wyvil," replied Mrs. Bloundel.
"I never heard of such a person," rejoined the doctor. "It must be an assumed name. Have you no letter or token that might lead to his discovery?" he added, turning to Amabel.
"I have his portrait," she replied, drawing a small miniature from her bosom.
"I am glad I have seen this," said the doctor, slightly starting as he cast his eyes upon it. "I hope it is not too late to save you, Amabel," he added, in a severe tone. "I hope you are free from contamination?"
"As I live, I am," she replied. "But you recognise the likeness?"
"I do," returned Hodges. "It is the portrait of one whose vices and depravity are the town's cry, and whose name coupled with that of a woman, is sufficient to sully her reputation."
"It is the Earl of Rochester," said Mrs. Bloundel.
"You have guessed aright," replied the doctor; "it is."
Uttering an exclamation of surprise and terror, Amabel fell back in her chair.
"I thought it must be that wicked nobleman," cried Mrs. Bloundel. "Would you believe it, doctor, that he forced himself into the house—nay, into this room—last night, and would have carried off my daughter, in spite of her resistance, if I had not prevented him."
"I can believe anything of him," replied Hodges. "But your husband, of course, knows nothing of the matter?"
"Not as yet," replied Mrs. Bloundel; "but I authorize you to tell him all."
"Mother, dear mother," cried Amabel, flinging herself on her knees before her, "I implore you not to add to my father's present distress. I might not have been able to conquer my attachment to Maurice Wyvil, but now that I find he is the Earl of Rochester, I regard him with abhorrence."
"If I could believe you sincere," said Mrs. Bloundel, "I might be induced to spare your father the pain which the knowledge of this unfortunate affair would necessarily inflict."
"I am sincere—indeed I am," replied Amabel.
"To prove that the earl could not have had honourable intentions towards you, Amabel," said the doctor, "I may mention that he is at this moment urging his suit with Mistress Mallet—a young heiress."
"Ah!" exclaimed Amabel.
"I was in attendance upon Mistress Stewart, the king's present favourite, the day before yesterday," continued Hodges, "and heard his majesty entreat her to use her influence with Mistress Mallet in Rochester's behalf. After this, you cannot doubt the nature of his intentions towards yourself."
"I cannot—I cannot," rejoined Amabel. "He is perfidy itself. But is Mistress Mallet very beautiful, doctor?"
"Very beautiful, and very rich," he replied, "and the earl is desperately in love with her. I heard him declare laughingly to the king, that if she would not consent to marry him, he would carry her off."
"Just what he said to me," exclaimed Amabel—"perjured and faithless that he is!"
"Harp on that string, doctor," whispered Mrs. Bloundel. "You understand her feelings exactly."
"Strangely enough," pursued the doctor, who, having carefully examined the miniature, had opened the back of the case, and could not repress a smile at what he beheld—"strangely enough, this very picture will convince you of the earl's inconstancy. It was evidently designed for Mistress Mallet, and, as she would not accept it, transferred to you."
"How do you know this, sir?" inquired Amabel, in a mortified tone.
"Hear what is written within it," answered Hodges, laying the open case before her, and reading as follows: "'To the sole possessor of his heart, the fair Mistress Mallet, this portrait is offered by her devoted slave—ROCHESTER.' 'The sole possessor of his heart!' So you have no share in it, you perceive, Amabel. 'Her devoted slave!' Is he your slave likewise? Ha! ha!"
"It is his writing," cried Amabel. "This note," she added, producing a billet, "is in the same hand. My eyes are indeed open to his treachery."
"I am glad to hear it," replied Hodges, "and if I can preserve you from the snares of this noble libertine, I shall rejoice as much as in curing your brother of the plague. But can you rely upon yourself, in case the earl should make another attempt to see you?"
"I can," she averred confidently.
"In that case there is nothing to apprehend," rejoined Hodges; "and I think it better on many accounts not to mention the subject to your father. It would only distract his mind, and prevent him from duly discharging the painful task he has undertaken. Were I in your place, Amabel, I would not only forget my present perfidious lover, but would instantly bestow my affections on some worthy person."
"It would gladden me if she would do so," said Mrs. Bloundel.
"There is your father's apprentice, Leonard Holt, a good-looking, well-grown lad," pursued the doctor; "and I much mistake if he is insensible to your attractions."
"I am sure he loves her dearly, doctor," replied Mrs. Bloundel. "He is as well-principled as well-looking. I have never had a fault to find with him since he came to live with us. It will rejoice me, and I am sure would not displease my husband, to see our child united to Leonard Holt."
"Well, what say you, Amabel?" asked Hodges. "Can you give him a hope?"
"Alas, no!" replied Amabel; "I have been deceived once, but I will not be deceived a second time. I will never wed."
"So every woman says after her first disappointment," observed Hodges; "but not one in ten adheres to the resolution. When you become calmer, I would recommend you to think seriously of Leonard Holt."
At this moment, a tap was heard at the door, and opening it, the doctor beheld the person in question.
"What is the matter?" cried Hodges. "I hope nothing is amiss."
"Nothing whatever," replied Leonard, "but my master wishes to see you before you leave the house."
"I will go to him at once," replied the doctor. "Good day, Mrs. Bloundel. Take care of your daughter, and I hope she will take care of herself. We have been talking about you, young man," he added in a low tone to the apprentice, "and I have recommended you as a husband to Amabel."
"There was a time, sir," rejoined Leonard, in a tone of deep emotion, "when I hoped it might be so, but that time is past."
"No such thing," replied the doctor. "Now is the time to make an impression. Her heart is on the rebound. She is satisfied of her lover's treachery. Her mother is on your side. Do not neglect the present opportunity, for another may not arrive." With this he pushed Leonard into the room, and, shutting the door upon him, hurried downstairs.
"You have arrived at a seasonable juncture, Leonard," observed Mrs. Bloundel, noticing the apprentice's perplexity, and anxious to relieve it. "We have just discovered that the person calling himself Maurice Wyvil is no other than the Earl of Rochester."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Leonard.
"Yes, indeed," returned Mrs. Bloundel. "But this is not all. Amabel has promised to forget him, and I have urged her to think of you."
"Amabel," said Leonard, advancing towards her, and taking her hand, "I can scarcely credit what I hear. Will you confirm your mother's words?"