"The macaw must go, Marriott, that is certain," said her ladyship, firmly.

“Then I must go, my lady,” said Marriott, angrily, "that is certain; for to part with my macaw is a thing I cannot do to please any body." Her eyes turned with indignation upon Belinda, from association merely; because the last time that she had been angry about her macaw, she had also been angry with Miss Portman, whom she imagined to be the secret enemy of her favourite.

"To stay another week in the house after my macaw's discarded in disgrace is a thing nothing shall prevail upon me to do." She flung out of the room in a fury.

"Good Heavens! am I reduced to this?" said Lady Delacour: "she thinks that she has me in her power. No; I can die without her: I have but a short time to live-I will not live a slave. Let the woman betray me, if she will. Follow her this moment, my dear generous friend; tell her never to come into this room again: take this pocket-book, pay her whatever is due to her in the first place, and give her fifty guineas-observe !—not as a bribe, but as a reward."

It was a delicate and difficult commission. Belinda found

Marriott at first incapable of listening to reason. "I am sure there is nobody in the world that would treat me and my macaw in this manner, except my lady," cried she; "and somebody must have set her against me, for it is not natural to her: but since she can't bear me about her any longer, 'tis time I should be gone."

"The only thing of which Lady Delacour complained was the noise of this macaw," said Belinda; "it was a pretty bird-how long have you had it?"

Scarcely a month," said Marriott, sobbing.

"And how long have you lived with your lady?" "Six years! And to part with her after all!

"And for the sake of a macaw! And at a time when your lady is so much in want of you, Marriott! You know she cannot live long, and she has much to suffer before she dies, and if you leave her, and if in a fit of passion you betray the confidence she has placed in you, you will reproach yourself for it ever afterward. This bird-or all the birds in the world-will not be

able to console you; for you are of an affectionate disposition, I know, and sincerely attached to your poor lady."

"That I am !—and to betray her!-Oh, Miss Portman, I would sooner cut off my hand than do it. And I have been tried more than my lady knows of, or you either, for Mr. Champfort, who is the greatest mischief-maker in the world, and is the cause, by not shutting the door, of all this dilemma; for now, ma'am, I'm convinced, by the tenderness of your speaking, that you are not the enemy to me I supposed, and I beg your pardon; but I was going to say that Mr. Champfort, who saw the fracas between my lord and me, about the key and the door, the night of my lady's accident, has whispered it about at Lady Singleton's and every where-Mrs. Luttridge's maid, ma'am, who is my cousin, has pestered me with so many questions and offers, from Mrs. Luttridge and Mrs. Freke, of any money, if I would only tell who was in the boudoir—and I have always answered, nobody—and I defy them to get any thing out of me. Betray my lady! I'd sooner cut my tongue out this minute! Can she have such a base opinion of me, or can you, ma'am?"

66

'No, indeed, I am convinced that you are incapable of betraying her, Marriott; but in all probability after you have left her"

"If my lady would let me keep my macaw," interrupted Marriott, "I should never think of leaving her."

"The macaw she will not suffer to remain in the house, nor is it reasonable that she should: it deprives her of sleep-it kept her awake three hours this morning."

Marriott was beginning the history of Champfort and the doors again; but Miss Portman stopped her by saying, "All this is past now. How much is due to you, Mrs. Marriott? Lady Delacour has commissioned me to pay you every thing that is due to you."

"Due to me!

Lord bless me, ma'am, am I to go?"

"Certainly, it was your own desire it is consequently your lady's: she is perfectly sensible of your attachment to her, and of your services, but she cannot suffer herself to be treated with disrespect. Here are fifty guineas, which she gives you as a reward for your past fidelity, not as a bribe to secure your future secresy. You are at liberty, she desires

me to say, to tell her secret to the whole world, if you choose to do so."

"Oh, Miss Portman, take my macaw-do what you will with it -only make my peace with my lady," cried Marriott, clasping her hands, in an agony of grief: "here are the fifty guineas, ma'am, don't leave them with me-I will never be disrespectful again-take my macaw and all! No, I will carry it myself to my lady."

Lady Delacour was surprised by the sudden entrance of Marriott, and her macaw. The chain which held the bird Marriott put into her ladyship's hand without being able to say any thing more than, "Do what you please, my lady, with it—and with me.” Pacified by this submission, Lady Delacour granted Marriott's pardon, and she most sincerely rejoiced at this reconciliation.

The next day Belinda asked the dowager Lady Boucher, who was going to a bird-fancier's, to take her with her, in hopes that she might be able to meet with some bird more musical than a macaw, to console Marriott for the loss of her screaming favourite. Lady Delacour commissioned Miss Portman to go to any price she pleased. "If I were able, I would accompany you myself, my dear, for poor Marriott's sake, though I would almost as soon go to the Augean stable."

There was a bird-fancier in High Holborn, who had bought several of the hundred and eighty beautiful birds, which, as the newspapers of the day advertised, had been "collected, after great labour and expense, by Mons. Marten and Co. for the Republican Museum at Paris, and lately landed out of the French brig Urselle, taken on her voyage from Cayenne to Brest, by His Majesty's Ship Unicorn."

When Lady Boucher and Belinda arrived at this bird-fancier's, they were long in doubt to which of the feathered beauties they should give the preference. Whilst the dowager was descanting upon their various perfections, a lady and three children came in; she immediately attracted Belinda's attention, by her likeness to Clarence Hervey's description of Lady Anne Percival—it was Lady Anne, as Lady Boucher, who was slightly acquainted with her, informed Belinda in a whisper.

The children were soon eagerly engaged looking at the birds. "Miss Portman," said Lady Boucher, "as Lady Delacour is

so far from well, and wishes to have a bird that will not make any noise in the house, suppose you were to buy for Mrs. Marriott this beautiful pair of green parroquets; or, stay, a goldfinch is not very noisy, and here is one that can play a thousand pretty tricks. Pray, sir, make it draw up water in its little bucket for us."

"Oh, mamma!" said one of the little boys, "this is the very thing that is mentioned in Bewick's History of Birds. Pray look at this goldfinch, Helena, now it is drawing up its little bucket-but where is Helena? here's room for you, Helena."

Whilst the little boys were looking at the goldfinch, Belinda felt somebody touch her gently: it was Helena Delacour.

“Can I speak a few words to you?” said Helena. Belinda walked to the farthest end of the shop with her. "Is my mamma better?" said she, in a timid tone. "I have some gold fish, which you know cannot make the least noise : may I send them to her? I heard that lady call you Miss Portman: I believe you are the lady who wrote such a kind postscript to me in mamma's last letter-that is the reason I speak so freely to you now. Perhaps you would write to tell me if mamma will see me; and Lady Anne Percival would take me at any time, I am sure-but she goes to Oakly-park in a few days. I wish I might be with mamma whilst she is ill; I would not make the least noise. But don't ask her, if you think it will be troublesome-only let me send the gold fish."

Belinda was touched by the manner in which this affectionate little girl spoke to her. She assured her that she would say all she wished to her mother, and she begged Helena to send the gold fish whenever she pleased.

"Then," said Helena, "I will send them as soon as I go home as soon as I go back to Lady Anne Percival's, I mean."

Belinda, when she had finished speaking to Helena, heard the man who was showing the birds, lament that he had not a blue macaw, which Lady Anne Percival was commissioned to procure for Mrs. Margaret Delacour.

"Red macaws, my lady, I have in abundance; but unfortu nately, a blue macaw I really have not at present; nor have I been

able to get one, though I have inquired amongst all the birdfanciers in town; and I went to the auction at Haydon-square on purpose, but could not get one."

Belinda requested Lady Boucher would tell her servants to bring in the cage that contained Marriott's blue macaw; and as soon as it was brought she gave it to Helena, and begged that she would carry it to her Aunt Delacour.

"Lord, my dear Miss Portman," said Lady Boucher, drawing her aside, "I am afraid you will get yourself into a scrape; for Lady Delacour is not upon speaking terms with this Mrs. Margaret Delacour-she cannot endure her; you know she is my Lord Delacour's aunt."

Belinda persisted in sending the macaw, for she was in hopes that these terrible family quarrels might be made up, if either party would condescend to show any disposition to oblige the other.

Lady Anne Percival understood Miss Portman's civility as it was meant.

“This is a bird of good omen," said she; peace."

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augurs family

"I wish you would do me the favour, Lady Boucher, to introduce me to Miss Portman," continued Lady Anne.

"The very thing I wished!" cried Helena.

A few minutes' conversation passed afterward upon different subjects, and Lady Anne Percival and Belinda parted with a mutual desire to see more of each other.

CHAPTER XIII.

SORTES VIRGILIANE.

WHEN Belinda got home, Lady Delacour was busy in the library looking over a collection of French plays with the ci-devant Count de N; a gentleman who possessed such singular talents for reading dramatic compositions, that many people declared that they would rather hear him read a play than see it performed at the theatre. Even those who were not judges of his merit, and who had little taste for literature, crowded to hear