All doubts were removed when Bottesham, slipping a purse into her hand, entreated her, on some plea or other, to induce Amabel to come into the kitchen.

At first she hesitated; but having a tender heart, inclining her to assist rather than oppose the course of any love-affair, her scruples were soon overcome.

Accordingly she hurried upstairs, and chancing to meet with her young mistress, who was about to retire to her own chamber, entreated her to come down with her for a moment in the kitchen.

Thinking it some unimportant matter, but yet wondering why Patience should appear so urgent, Amabel complied.
She was still more perplexed when she saw the two strangers, and would have instantly retired if Bottesham had not detained her.
"You will pardon the liberty I have taken in sending for you," he said, "when I explain that I have done so to offer you counsel." "I am as much at a loss to understand what counsel you can have to offer, sir, as to guess why you are here," she replied.
"Amabel," returned Bottesham, in a low tone, but altering his voice, and slightly raising his spectacles so as to disclose his features; "it is I--Maurice Wyvil." "Ah!" she exclaimed, in the utmost astonishment.
"I told you we should meet again," he rejoined; "and I have kept my word." "Think not to deceive me, my lord," she returned, controlling her emotion by a powerful effort.

"I am aware you are not Maurice Wyvil, but the Earl of Rochester.