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LONDON: PRINTED BT WILLIAM CLOWKS AND SONS, Stamford-itreet.

CONTENTS OF THE THIRD PART

Of 1837.

THE

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

THE GURNEY PAPERS.—NO. IX.

After we had entered the house Wells continued his account of the proceedings at Aunt Pennefather's.

No sooner had the unliable mistress of the house recovered from her fainting fit, which held for some time, and was eventually overcome by the application of hartshorn and Eau de Cologne, the burning of feathers, the sprinkling of water, and all the established remedies recommended by the Humane Society for the restoration of hysterical ladies, than she screamed out the name of Millicent Maloney, in a tone emulating that of a peacock in anticipation of rain; but, although she had regained the use of her voice, her intellectual faculties continued in a lamentable state of obfuscation—her eyes rolled in every direction—her fists remained clenched—and the first coherent phrase which the anxious attendants could understand was this, 'Who the devil is it with?'

Then it was the maid-servants looked at each other—then it was they began to feel a confidence that their suspicions were well founded, and that something very extraordinary had happened to Miss Millicent Maloney.

"'Where is she?' said the recovering Pennefather—'where is she? —I ask you all, where is she?'

"' She?' said one.

"'Where?' said another.

"'Where is who?' cried a third.

"' Millicent—my child Millicent!' said Miss Pennefather.

"'Child!'said Mary.

'" Child !' exclaimed Jenny.

"' Child!' reiterated Susan.

"* Yes,' faltered out Miss Pennefather—' my child—my niece—my young friend!'

"'The last time I saw her, Ma'am,' said Susan, 'was a-going down the garden, just by the ewe-trees, towards the summer-house.'

"' When was that?' said Miss Pennefather.

"'About ten o'clock this morning,' said Susan.

"'Psha! Ridiculous!' said her mistress. 'Didn't she lunch with me at half-past one?'

"' I only said'

"'Stuff! Nonsense!' exclaimed the lady. 'Lift me up—raise my head. Where's Philip? Where's the note? Oh, here. What on earth shall I do—what shall I do?'

Sept.Vol. u. No. cci, B

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