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THE WILL.
The next day, or rather the next evening, Sir Miles St.John was seated before his unshared chicken,--seated alone, and vaguely surprised at himself, in a large, comfortable room in his old hotel, Hanover Square.
Yes, he had escaped.

Hast thou, O Reader, tasted the luxury of escape from a home where the charm is broken,--where Distrust looks askant from the Lares?
In vain had Dalibard remonstrated, conjured up dangers, and asked at least to accompany him.

Excepting his dogs and his old valet, who was too like a dog in his fond fidelity to rank amongst bipeds, Sir Miles did not wish to have about him a single face familiar at Laughton, Dalibard especially.

Lucretia's letter had hinted at plans and designs in Dalibard.