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NCVJ

ERNEST MALTRAVERS.

BY THE ADTHOK OF

**PELHAM," "EUGENE ARAM," "RIENZI,"

b ";n '^'- o -vn l^ \i i, ^ ^, -^^ '^

eAPpa Ta aioikoynti.

M. Antonin, lib. ri.ysee. 8.

IN TWO YOLUMBS.

VOL. 11. ^

NEW. YORK: *
HARPER & BROTHERS. 82 CLIFF-STREET.

1837.

,V'7

v^cW

\ ^_V\

• !

K i .') L

B O O K V.

(continued.)

CHAPTER VII.

"Bg|irr got out of town, the first thing I did was to give my mule
herHb."— G^iZ BUu.

Although the character of Maltravers was gradually
becoming more hard and severe ; although, as his reason
grew more muscular, his imagination lost something of
its early bloom, and he was sdready very different from
the wild boy who had set the German youths in a blaze,
and had changed into a castle of indolence the little cot-
tage tenanted with poetry and Alice, he still preserved
many of his old habits ; he loved, at frequent intervals,
to disappear from the great world — to get rid of books
and friends, and luxury and wealth, and make solitary
excursions, sometimes on foot, sometimes on horseback,
through this fair garden of England.

It was one soft May-day that he found himself on
such an expedition, slowly riding through one of the
green lanes of shire. His cloak and his saddle-
bags comprised all his baggage, and the world was be-
fore him "where to choose his place of rest." The
lane wound at length into the main road, and just as
he came upon it he fell in with a gay party of eques-
trians.

Foremost of this cavalcade rode a lady in a dark green
habit, mounted on a thoroughbred English horse, which
she managed with so easy a grace that Maltravers halt-
ed in involuntary admiration. He himself was a con-
summate horseman, and he had the quick eye of sym-
pathy for those who shared the accomplishment. He
thought, as he gazed, that he had never seen but one wo-
man whose air and mien on horseback were so full
of that nameless elegance which skill and courage in
any art naturally bestow — that woman was Valerie d©

-■ •

4 EXPLANATIONS — IMPROVEMBNTS.

St. Ventadour. Presently, to his great surprise, the la-
dy advanced from her companions, neared Maltravers,
and said, in a voice ivhich he did not at first distinctly
recognise—" Is it possible! do I see Mr. Maltravers 1"

She paused a moment, and then threw aside her veil,
and Ernest beheld — Madame de St. Ventadour! By
this time a tall thin gentleman had joined the French-
woman.

" Has madame met with an acquaintance V said he ;
" and if so, will she permit me to partake her pleas-
ure ?"

The intemiption seemed a relief to Valerie; she
smiled and coloured.

" Lf't me introduce to you Mr. Maltravers. Mr. Mal-
travers, this is my host. Lord Doningdale.*'

The two gentlemen bowed, the rest of the cavalcade
surrounded the trio, and Lord Doningdale, with a state-
ly yet frank courtesy, invited Maltravers to return with
the party to his house, which was about four miles dis-
tant. As may be supposed, Ernest readily accepted
the invitation. The cavalcade proceeded, and Maltrav-
ers hastened to Keek an explanation from Valerie, it
was soon given. Madame de St. Ventadour had a
younger sister, who had lately married a sou of Lord
boningdale. The marriage had been solemnized in
Paris, and Monsieur and Madame de St. Ventadour had
been in England a week on a visit to the English peer.

The rencontre was so sudden and unexpected, that
neither recovered sufficient self-possession for fluent
conversation. The explanation given, Valerie sank into
a thoughtful silence, and Maltravers rode by her side
equally taciturn, pondering on the strange chance which,
after the lapse of years, haid thrown them again together.
Lord Doningdale, who at first lingered with his other
visiters, now joined them, and Maltravers was struck
with his highbred manner, and a singular and somewhat
elaborate polish in his emphasis and expression. They
soon entered a noble park, which atte^^ted far more
care and attention than is usually bestowed upon those
demesnes so peculiarly English. Young plantations
everywhere contrasted the venerable groves— new cot-
tages of picturesque design adorned the outskirts — and
obelisks and columns, copied from the antique, and evi-
dently of recent workmanship, gleamed upon them as
they neaied the house— a large pile, in which the fash-

^ • we * a

• • * « . (

• • • •

• * »

GENEROSITY REQUITED. 5

ion of Queen Anne^s day had been altered into the
French roofs and windows of the architecture of the
Tuileries.

" You reside much in the country, I am sure, my
lord," said Maltravers.

" Yes," replied Lord Doningdale, with a pensive air,
" this place is greatly endeared to me. Here his ma-
jesty Louis the Eighteenth, when in Engird, honoured
me with an annual visit. In compliment to him, I
sought to model my poor mansion into an humble like-
ness of his own palace, so that he might as little as
possible miss the rights he had lost. His own rooms
were finished exactly like those he had occupied at the
Tuileries. Yes, the place is endeared to me — I think
of the old times with pride. It is something to have
sheltered a Bourbon in his misfortunes."

" It cost milord a vast sum to make these alterations,"
said Madame de St. A^'entadour, glancing archly at Mal-
travers.

" Ah, yes," said the old lord, and his face, lately ela-
ted, became overcast — " nearly three hundred thousand
pounds; but what then — ^ Les souvenirs, madame, sont
sans prix /' "

" Have you visited Paris since the ipstoration, Lord
Doningdale V asked Maltravers.

His lordship looked at him sharply, and then turned
his eye to Madame de St.. A^entadour.

" Nay," said Valerie, laughing, '* I did not dictate the
question."

" Yes," said Lord Doningdale, " I have been at Paris."
"His majesty must have been delighted to return
your lordship's hospitality."

Lord Doningdale looked a little embarrassed, and
made no reply, but put his horse into a canter.

"You have galled our host," said A'^alerie, smiling.
"Louis XVIII. and his friends lived here as long as
they pleased, and as sumptuously as they could ; their
visits half ruined the owner, who is the model of a
gentilhomme and preux chevalier. He went to Paris
to witness their triumph; he expected, I fancy, the
order of the St. Esprit. Lord Doningdale has royal
blood in his veins. His majesty asked him once to
dinner, and when he took leave, said to him, * We are
happy. Lord Doningdale, to have thus requited our
obligations to your lordship.' Lord Doningdale went

6 MALT&ATSKS ACCSPT8 AM IKTITATION.

back in dodgeon, yet he stOl boasts of his stnmemn,
poor mao."

*^ Princes are not gratefol, neither are repoblics,^
said MaltrsTers.
** Ah ! who is grateful,'* rejoined Valerie, ^ except a

- doff and a woman I**

^~ Maltravers found himself ushered into a vast dres-
sing-room, and was informed by a French valet that,
in the country, Lord Doningdale dined at six ; the first
bell would ring in a few minutes. While the valet was
speaking, Loi^ Doningdale himself entered the room.
His lordship had learned, in the mean while, that Mai-
travers was of the great and ancient commoners' house,
whose honours were centred in his brother ; and yet
more, that he was the Mr. Maltravers whose writings
every one talked of, whethe;- for praise or abuse. Lord
Doningdale had the two characteristics of a highbred
gentleman of the old school, respect for birth and re-
spect for talent ; he was, therefore, more than ordina-
rily courteous to Ernest, and pressed him to stay some
days with so much cordiality that Maltravers could not
but assent. His travelling toilet was scanty ; but Mal-
travers thought little of dress, and in a carter's frock
he would have looked what he was — ^the descendant of
the Norman — that aristocrat of the world. But, like
the Normans, he owed the air of command to mind,
not birth.

CHAPTER VIII.

"n^ ** It ia the tool that wi&n. The ootward eyea
Present the object, but the mind descries,
* And thence delight, disgust, or cool indiffiBrence rise.**

Ckabbk.

Whch Maltravers entered the enormous saloon, hung
with damask, and decorated with the ponderous enrich-
ments and furniture of the time of Louis XIV. (that
most showy and barbarous of all tastes, which has
nothing in it of the graceful, nothing of the picturesque,
and which, nowadays, people who should know better
imitate witli a ludicrous servility), he found sixteen

Valerie's sister — valerie. 7

persons assembled. His host stepped up from a circle
which surrounded him, and formally presented his new
visiter to the rest. He was struck with the likeness
which the sister of Valerie bore to Valerie herself; but
it was a sobered and chastened likeness — liess handsome,
less impressive. Mrs. Greorge Herbert — such was the
name she now owned — was a pretty, shrinking, timid
girl, fond of her husband, and mightily awed by her
father-in-law. Maltravers sat by her, and drew her into
conversation. He could not help pitying the poor lady
when he found she was to live altogether at Ooningdaie
Park ; remote from all the friends and habits of her
childhood ; alone, so far as the affections were con-
cerned, with a young husband, who was passionately
fond of field-sports, and who, from the few words Er-
nest exchanged with him, seemed to have only three
ideas — his dogs, his horses, and his wife. Alas! the
last would soon be the least in importance. It is a sad
position ; a lively young Frenchwoman entombed in an
English country house ! Marriages with foreigners are
seldom fortunate experiments ! But £rnest^s attention
was soon diverted from the sister by the entrance of
Valerie herself, leaning on her husband's arm. Hith-
erto he had not very minutely observed what change
time had effected in her ; perhaps he was half afraid.
He now gazed at her with curious interest. Valerie
was still extremely handsome, but her face had grown
sharper, her form thinner, and more angular ; there was
something in her eye and lip, discontented, restless,
almost querulous : such is the too common expression
in the face of those bom to love, and condemned to be
indifferent. The little sister was more to be envied of
the two ; come what may, she loved her husband, such
as he was, and her heart might ache, but it wa^ not
with a void.

Monsieur de St. Ventadour soon shuffled up to Mal-
travers, his nose longer than ever.

** Hein — ^hein — ^hcnv d'ye do — how d'ye do 1— charmed
to see you — saw madame before me — hein — hein — ^I
suspect — I suspect — "

" Mr. Maltravers, will you give Madame de St. Ven-
tadour your arm V said Lord Doningdale, as he stalked
on to the dining-room with a duchess on his own.

" And you have left Naples," said Maltravers ; " left
it for good V

6 MALTRAYERS ACCEPTS AN INTITATIOM.

back in dudgeon, yet he still boasts of his sattvemrs,
poor man."

"Princes are not grateful, neither are republics,"
said Maltravers.

(^ " Ah ! who is grateful," rejoined Valerie, " except a

A dog and a woman !"

^ Maltravers found himself ushered into a vast dres-
sing-room, and was informed by a French valet that,
in the country, Lord Doningdale dined at six ; the first
bell would ring in a few minutes. While the valet was
speaking, Lord Doningdale himself entered the room.
His lordship had learned, in the mean while, that Mal-
travers was of the great and ancient commoners' house,
whose honours were centred in his brother ; and yet
more, that he was the Mr. Maltravers whose writings
every one talked of, whethe;* foi* praise or abuse. Lord
Doningdale had the two characteristics of a highbred
gentleman of the old school, respect for birth and re-
spect for talent ; he was, therefore, more than ordina-
nly courteous to Ernest, .and pressed him to stay some
days with so much cordiality that Maltravers could not
but assent. His travelling toilet was scanty ; but Mai-

- travers thought little of dress, and in a carter's frock
he would have looked what he was — the descendant of
the Norman — that aristocrat of the world. But, like
the Normans, he owed the air of command to mind,
not birth.

CHAPTER Vni.

\^ ** It is the soul thnt se<*8. The outward eyes
Present the object, but the mind descries.
And thence delight, disgust, or cool indifference rise.**

^ Crabbi.

When Maltravers entered the enormous saloon, hung
with damask, and decorated with the ponderous enrich-
ments and furniture of the time of Louis XIV. (that
most showy and barbarous of all tastes, which has
nothing in it of the graceful, nothing of the picturesque,
and which, nowadays, people who should know better
imitate with a ludicrous servility), he found sixteen

Valerie's sister — valerie. 7

persons assembled. His host stepped up from a circle
which surrounded him, and formally presented his new
visiter to the rest. He was struck with the likeness
which the sister of Valerie bore to Valerie herself; but
it was a sobered and chastened likeness — liess handsome,
less impressive. Mrs. George Herbert — such was the
name she now owned — was a pretty, shrinking, timid
girl, fond of her husband, and mightily^ awed by her
father-in-law. Maltravers sat by her, and drew her into
conversation. He could not help pitying the poor lady
when he found she was to live altogether at Ooningdale
Park ; remote from all the friends and habits of her
childhood ; alone, so far as the affections were con-
cerned, with a young husband, who was passionately
fond of field-sports, and who, from the few words Er-
nest exchanged with him, seemed to have only three
ideas — his dogs, his horses, and his wife. Alas! the
last would soon be the least in importance. It is a sad
position ; a lively young Frenchwoman entombed in an
English country house ! Marriages with foreigners are <
seldom fortunate experiments ! But Ernest's attention
was soon diverted from the sister by the entrance of
Yalene herself, leaning on her husband's arm. Hith-
erto he had not very minutely observed what change
time had effected in her; perhaps he was half afraid.
He now gazed at her with curious interest. Valerie
was still extremely handsome, but her face had grown
sharper, her form thinner, and more angular ; there was
something in her eye and lip, discontented, restless,
almost querulous : such is the too common expression
in the face of those born to love, and condemned to be
indifferent. The little sister was more to be envied of
the two ; come what may, she loved her husband, such
as he was, and her heart might ache, but it ws^s not
with a void.

Monsieur de St. Ventadour soon shuffled up to Mal-
travers, his nose longer than ever.

** Hein — ^hein — how d'ye do— how d'ye do 1— charmed
to see you — saw madame before me — hein — hein — ^I
suspect — I suspect — "

** Mr. Maltravers, will you give Madame de St. Ven-
tadour your arm V said Lord Doningdale, as he stalked
on to the dining-room with a duchess on his own.

" And you have left Naples," said Maltravers ; '* left
it for good r*

6 MALTRAVERS ACCEPTS AN INTITATIOM.

back in dudgeon, yet he still boasts of his souvemrs^
poor man."

"Princes are not grateful, neither are republics,"
said Maltravers.

r " Ah ! who is grateful," rejoined Valerie, " except a

A dog and a woman !"

^ Maltravers found himself ushered into a vast dres-
sing-room, and was informed by a French valet that,
in the country, Lord Doningdale dined at six ; the first
bell would ring in a few minutes. While the valet was
speaking, Lord Doningdale himself entered the room.
His lordship had learned, in the mean while, that Mal-
travers was of the great and ancient commoners^ house,
whose honours were centred in his brother ; and yet
more, that he was the Mr. Maltravers whose writings
every one talked of, whethe;* foi* praise or abuse. Lord
Doningdale had the two characteristics of a highbred
gentleman of the old school, respect for birth and re-
spect for talent ; he was, therefore, more than ordina-
nly courteous to Ernest, .and pressed him to stay some
days with so much cordiality that Maltravers could not
but assent. His travelling toilet was scanty ; but Mai*

CHAPTER VHL

^^ ** It is the soul thnt se<*s. The outward eyes
Present the object, but the mind descries.
And thence delight, disgust, or cool indifference rise.**

Crabbi.

VALERIE^S SISTER — VALERIE. 7

persons assembled. His host stepped up from a circle
which surrounded him, and formally presented his new
visiter to the rest. He was struck with the likeness
which the sister of Valerie bore to Valerie herself; but
it was a sobered and chastened likeness — liess handsome,
less impressive. Mrs. George Herbert — such was the
name she now owned — was a pretty, shrinking, timid
girl, fond of her husband, and mightily^ awed by her
father-in-law. Maltravers sat by her, and drew her into
conversation. He could not help pitying the poor lady
when he found she was to live altogether at Ooningdale
Park; remote from all the friends and habits of her
childhood ; alone, so far as the affections were con-
cerned, with a young husband, who was passionately
fond of field-sports, and who, from the few words Er-
nest exchanged with him, seemed to have only three
ideas — ^his dogs, his horses, and his wife. Alas! the
last would soon be the least in importance. It is a sad
position ; a lively young Frenchwoman entombed in an
English country house ! Marriages with foreigners are i
seldom fortunate experiments ! But Ernest's attention
was soon diverted from the sister by the entrance of
Valerie herself, leaning on her husband's arm. Hith-
erto he had not very minutely observed what change
time had effected in her; perhaps he was half afraid.
He now gazed at her with curious interest. Valerie
was still extremely handsome, but her face had grown
sharper, her form thinner, and more angular ; there was
something in her eye and lip, discontented, restless,
almost querulous : such is the too common expression
in the face of those bom to love, and condemned to be
indifferent. The little sister was more to be envied of
the two ; come what may, she loved her husband, such
as he was, and her heart might ache, but it ws^ not
with a Void.

Monsieur de St. Ventadour soon shuffled up to Mal-
travers, his nose longer than ever.

** Hein — ^hein — how d'ye do— ho w d'ye do 1— charmed
to see you — saw madame before me — hein — hein — I
suspect — I suspect — "

" Mr. Maltravers, will you give Madame de St. Ven-
tadour your arm V said Lord Doningdale, as he stalked
on to the dining-room with a duchess on his own.

" And you have left Naples," said Maltravers ; '* left
it for good «"

6 MALTRAYERS ACCEPTS AN INTITATIOM.

back in dudgeon, yet he still boasts of his souvenirs^
poor man."

"Princes are not grateful, neither are republics,"
said Maltravers.

/ " Ah ! who is grateful," rejoined Valerie, " except a

•N dog and a woman !"

CHAPTER Vni.

"^^ ** It is the soul that se<*s. The outward eyes
Present the object, but the mind descries*
And thence delight, disgust, or cool indifference rise.**

Crabbi.

VAUBRIe's sister — VALERIE. 7

persons assembled. His host stepped up from a circle
which surrounded him, and formally presented his new
visiter to the rest. He was struck with the likeness
which the sister of Valerie bore to Valerie herself; but
it was a sobered and chastened likeness — less handsome,
less impressive. Mrs. George Herbert — such was the
name she now owned — was a pretty, shrinking, timid
girl, fond of her husband, and mightily^ awed by her
father-in-law. Maltravers sat by her, and drew her into
conversation. He could not help pitying the poor lady
when he found she was to live altogether at Ooningdale
Park; remote from all the friends and habits of her
childhood ; alone, so far as the affections were con-
cerned, with a young husband, who was passionately
fond of field-sports, and who, from the few words Er-
nest exchanged with him, seemed to have only three
ideas — ^his dogs, his horses, and his wife. Alas! the
last would soon be the least in importance. It is a sad
position ; a lively young Frenchwoman entombed in an
English country house ! Marriages with foreigners are j
seldom fortunate experiments ! But Ernest's attention
was soon diverted from the sister by the entrance of
Yalene herself, leaning on her husband's arm. Hith-
erto he had not very minutely observed what change
time had effected in her; perhaps he was half afraid.
He now gazed at her with curious interest. Valerie
was still extremely handsome, but her face had grown
sharper, her form thinner, and more angular ; there was
something in her eye and lip, discontented, restless,
almost querulous : such is the too common expression
in the face of those bom to love, and condemned to be
Indifferent. The little sister was more to be envied of
the two ; come what may, she loved her husband, such
as he was, and her heart might ache, but it ws^ not
with a void.

Monsieur de St. Ventadour soon shuffled up to Mal-
travers, his nose longer than ever.

•' Hein— hein— h(rw d'ye do — how d'ye do 1— charmed
to see you — saw madame before me — hein^hein — ^I
suspect — I suspect — "

" Mr. Maltravers, will you give Madame de St. Ven-
tadour your arm V said Lord Doningdale, as he stalked
on to the dining-room with a duchess on his own.

" And you have left Naples," said Maltravers ; '* left
it for good V

6 MALTRAYERS ACCEPTS AN INTITATIOM.

back in dudgeon, yet he still boasts of his souvenirs^
poor man."

"Princes are not grateful, neither are republics,"
said Maltravers.

/ " Ah ! who is grateful," rejoined Valerie, " except a

A dog and a woman !"

CHAPTER Vni.

"^^ ** It is the soul thnt se<*8. The outward eyes
Present the object, but the mind descries,
And thence delight, disgust, or cool indifference rise."

Crabbi.

Valerie's sister — valerie. 7

persons assembled. His host stepped up from a circle
which surrounded him, and formally presented his new
visiter to the rest. He was struck with the likeness
which the sister of Valerie bore to Valerie herself; but
it was a sobered and chastened likeness — less handsome,
less impressive. Mrs. George Herbert — such was the
name she now owned — was a pretty, shrinking, timid
girl, fond of her husband, and mightily awed by her
father-in-law. Maltravers sat by her, and drew her into
conversation. He could not help pitying the poor lady
when he found she was to live altogether at Doningdale
Park; remote from all the friends and habits of her
childhood ; alone, so far as the affections were con-
cerned, with a young husband, who was passionately
fond of field-sports, and who, from the few words Er-
nest exchanged with him, seemed to have only three
ideas — his dogs, his horses, and his wife. Alas! the
last would soon be the least in importance. It is a sad
position ; a lively young Frenchwoman entombed in an
English country house ! Marriages with foreigners are ,
seldom fortunate experiments ! But firnest^s attention
was soon diverted from the sister by the entrance of
Yalene herself, leaning on her husband^s arm. Hith-
erto he had not very minutely observed what change
time had effected in her; perhaps he was half afraid.
He now gazed at her with curious interest. Valerie
was still extremely handsome, but her face had grown
sharper, her form thinner, and more angular ; there was
something in her eye and lip, discontented, restless,
almost querulous : such is the too common expression
in the face of those bom to love, and condemned to be
indifferent. The little sister was more to be envied of
the two ; come what may, she loved her husband, such
as he was, and her heart might ache, but it ws^ not
with a void.

Monsieur de St. Ventadour soon shuffled up to Mal-
travers, his nose longer than ever.

•' Hein — ^hein — how d'ye do— ho w d'ye do 1— charmed
to see you — saw madame before me — hein^hein — ^I
suspect — I suspect — "

" Mr. Maltravers, will you give Madame de St. Ven-
tadour your arm V said Lord Doningdale, as he stalked
on to the dining-room with a duchess on his own.

" And you have left Naples," said Maltravers ; '* led
it for good r

6 MALTRAVERS ACCEPTS AN INTITATIOM.

back in dudgeon, yet he still boasts of his souvenirs^
poor man."

"Princes are not grateful, neither are republics,"
said Maltravers.

r "Ah I who is grateful," rejoined Valerie, " except a

A dog and a woman !"

^ Maltravers found himself ushered into a vast dres-
sing-room, and was informed by a French valet that,
in the country, Lord Doningdale dined at six ; the first
bell would ring in a few minutes. While the valet was
speaking, Lord Doningdale himself entered the room.
His lordship had learned, in the mean while, that Mal-
travers was of the great and ancient commoners' house,
whose honours were centred in his brother ; and yet
more, that he was the Mr. Maltravers whose writings
every one talked of, whethe;* foi* praise or abuse. Lord
Doningdale had the two characteristics of a highbred
gentleman of the old school, respect for birth and re-
spect for talent ; he was, therefore, more than ordina-
rily courteous to Ernest, .and pressed him to stay some
days with so much cordiality that Maltravers could not
but assent. His travelling toilet was scanty ; but Mal«

CHAPTER VIII.

^ ** It is the soul thnt se<*8. The outward eyes
Present the object, but the mind descries,
And thence delight, disgust, or cool indifference rise.**

Crabbi.

V^HBN Maltravers entered the enormous saloon, hung
with damask, and decorated with the ponderous enrich-
ments and furniture of the time of Louis XIV. (that
most showy and barbarous of all tastes, which has
nothing in it of the graceful, nothing of the picturesque,
and which, nowadays, people who should know better
imitate with a ludicxous servility), he foond sixteen

VALERIE^S SISTER — VALERIE. 7

persons assembled. His host stepped up from a circle
which surrounded him, and formally presented his new
visiter to the rest. He was struck with the likeness
which the sister of Valerie bore to Valerie herself; but
it was a sobered and chastened likeness — liess handsome,
less impressive. Mrs. George Herbert — such was the
name she now owned — was a pretty, shrinking, timid
girl, fond of her husband, and mightily awed by her
father-in-law. Maltravers sat by her, and drew her into
conversation. He could not help pitying the poor lady
when he found she was to live altogether at Ooningdale
Park; remote from all the friends and habits of her
childhood ; alone, so far as the affections were con-
cerned, with a young husband, who was passionately
fond of field-sports, and who, from the few words Er-
nest exchanged with him, seemed to have only three
ideas — his dogs, his horses, and his wife. Alas! the
last would soon be the least in importance. It is a sad
position ; a lively young Frenchwoman entombed in an
English country house ! Marriages with foreigners are ,
seldom fortunate experiments ! But Ernest's attention
was soon diverted from the sister by the entrance of
Yalene herself, leaning on her husband's arm. Hith-
erto he had not very minutely observed what change
time had effected in her; perhaps he was half afraid.
He now gazed at her with curious interest. Valerie
was still extremely handsome, but her face had grown
sharper, her form thinner, and more angular ; there was
something in her eye and lip, discontented, restless,
almost querulous : such is the too common expression
in the face of those bom to love, and condemned to be
indifferent. The little sister was more to be envied of
the two ; come what may, she loved her husband, such
as he was, and her heart might ache, but it ws^ not
with a void.

Monsieur de St. Ventadour soon shuffled up to Mal-
travers, his nose longer than ever.

" Hein — ^hein — how d'ye do— ho w d'ye do 1— charmed
to see you — saw madame before me — hein^hein — ^I
suspect — I suspect — "

" Mr. Maltravers, will you give Madame de St. Ven-
tadour your arm V said Lord Doningdale, as he stalked
on to the dining-room with a duchess on his own.

*' And you have left Naples," said Maltravers ; '* left
it for good V'

8 CHANGE — THE SYMPATHIES PASS.

" We do not think of returning."

" It was a charming place — how I loved it ! how well
I remember it !" Ernest spoke calmly ; it was but a
general remark.

Valerie sighed slightly.

During dinner, the conversation between Maltravers
and Madame de St. Yentadour was vague and embar-
rassed. Ernest was jao longer in love with her ; he had
outgrown that youtmul fancy. She had exercised an
influence over him ; the new influ^ces that he had cre-
ated had chased away her image. N Such is life. Long
absences extinguish all the false lights, though not the
true ones. The lamps are dead in the b^mquet-room of
yesterday ; but a thousand years hence>iand the stars 1
we look on to-night will burn as brightly. Maltravers
was no longer in love with Valerie. But Valerie — ah,
perhaps hers had been true love !

Maltravers was surprised when he came to examine
the state of his own feelings ; he was surprised to find
that his pulse did not beat quicker at the touch of one
whose very glance had once thrilled him to the soul ;
he was surprised, but rejoiced. He was no longer anx-
ious to seek, but to shun excitement, and he was a bet-
ter and a higher being than he had been on the shores
of Naples. _

CHAPTER IX.

"Whence that low voice, a whisper from the heart,
That told of days loog past."

y WORDSWOkTH.

Ernest stayed several days at Lord Doningdale^s, and
every dajr^he rode out with Valerie, but it was with a
large party ; and every evening he conversed with her,
but the whole world might have overheard what they
said. In fact, the sympathy that had once existed be-
tween the young dreamer and the proud, discontented
woman, had in much passed away. Awakened to vast
and grand objects, Maltravers was a dreamer no more.
Inured to the life of trifles she had once loathed, Va-
lerie had settled down into the usages and thoughts of

TALBRIB AND ERNBST. . 9

the common world ; she had no longer the superiority
of earthly wisdom over Maltravers, and his romance
was sobered in its eloquence, and her ear dulled to its
tone. Still Ernest felt a deep interest in her, and still
she seem(*d to feel a sensitive pride in his career.

One evening Maltravers had joined a circle in which
Madame de St. Ventadour, with more than her usual an-
imatitm, presided ; and to which, in her pretty, womanly,
and thtiroughly French way, she was lightly laying
down the law on a hundred subjects — philosophy, po-
etry, Sevres china, and the balance of power in Europe.
Eniest hstened to her, delighted, but not enchanted.
Yet Valerie was not natural that night — she was speak-
ing from forced spirits.

" Well,*' said Madame de St. Yentadour at last, tired,
perhaps, of the part she had been playing, and bringing
to a sudden close an animated description of the then
French court — '* well, see now if we ought not to be
ashamed of ourselves ; our talk has positively inter-
xxipted the music. Did 3*ou see Lord Doningdale stop it
with a bow to me, as much as to say, with his courtly
rejproof— * It sha'n't disturb you, madam !' I will no
longer be accessary to your crime of b^d taste !"

With this the Frenchwoman rose, and, gliding through
the circle, seated herself alone at the farther end of the
room. Ernest followed her with his eyes. Suddenly
she beckoned to him, and he approached and seated
himself by her side.

" Mr. Maltravers," said Valerie then, with great sweet-
ness in her voice, " I have not yet expressed to you
the delight I have felt from your genius. In absence
you have suffered me to converse with you ; your
books have been to me dear friends : as we shall soon
part again, let me now tell you of this, frankly and
without compliment."

This paved the way to a conversation that approached
more on the precincts of the past than any they had
yet Itnown. But Ernest was guarded, and Valerie
watched his words and looks with an interest she could
not conceal; an interest that partook of dissappoint-
ment.

'^ It is an excitementir said Valerie, '* to climb a
mountain, though it fa^^ue, and though the clouds
may even deny us a prospect from its summit ; it is an
excitement that gives a very universal pleasure, and

10 AMBITION AND COMPOSITION.

that seems as if it were the result of a common human
instinct, which makes us desire to rise, to get above
the ordinary thoroughfares and level of life. Some
such pleasure you must have in intellectual ambition,
in which the mind is the upward traveller."

" It is not the ambition that pleases," replied Maltrav-
ers ; " it is the following a path congenial to our tastes,
and made dear to us in a short time by habit. The mo-
ments in which we look beyond our work, and fancy
ourselves seated beneath the everlasting laurel, are few.
It is the work itself, whether of action or literature, that
interests and excites us. And at length the dryness of
toil takes the familiar sweetness of custom. But in in-
tellectual labour there is another charm — ^we become
more intimate with our own nature. The heart and the
soul grow friends, as it were, and the affections and as-
pirations unite. Thus we are never without society,
we are never alone ; all that we have read, learned, and
discovered is company to us. This is pleasant," added
Maltravers, " to thos#who have no dear connexions in
'the world without." *

" And is that your case 1" asked Valerie, with a timid
smile.

" Alas, yes ! and since I conquered one affection, Ma-
dame de St. Ventadour, I almost think I have outlived
the capacity of loving. I believe that when we culti-
vate very largely the reason or the imagination, we
blunt, to a certain extent, our young susceptibilities to
the fair impressions of real life. From ' idleness,' says
the olG Roman poet, * Love feeds his torch.' "

" You are too young to talk thus."

** I speak as I feel."

Valerie said no more.

Shortly afterward Lord Doningdale approached them,
and proposed that they should make an excursion the
next day to see the ruins of an old abbey some few
miles distant.

THE INN AND THE LADT. 11

CHAPTER X.

" If I should meet thee

After long years,
How shall I greet thee?"

BVRON.

It was a smaller party than usual the next day, coU''
sisting only of Lord Doningdale, his son George Her-
bert, Valerie, and Ernest. They were returning from
the ruins, and the sun, now gradually approaching the
west, threw its slant rays over the gardens and houses
of a small picturesque town, or, perhaps, rather village,
on the high North Road. It is one of the prettiest
places in England, that town or village, and boasts an
excellent oldfashioned inn, with a large and quaint
pleasure-garden. It was through the long and strag-
gling street that our little party slowly rode, when the
sky became suddenly overcast, and a few large hail-
stones falling gave notice of an approaching storm.

" I told you we should not get safely through the
day," said George Herbert. " Now we are in for it."

"George, that is a vulgar expression," said Lord
Doningdale, buttoning up his coat. While he spoke a
vivid flash of lightning darted across their very path,
and the sky grew darker and darker.

" We may as well rest at the inn," said Maltravers ;
" the storm is coming on apace, and Madame de St.
Ventadour — "

" You are right," interrupted Lord Doningdale ; and
he put his horse into a canter.

They were soon at the door of the old hotel. Bells
rang— iogs tarked — ^hostlers ran. A plain, dark travel-
ling post-chariot was before the inn door ; and, roused
perhaps by the noise below, a lady in the " first floor
front. No. 2," came to the window. This lady owned
the traveUing-carriage, and was at this time alone in
that apartment. As she looked carelessly at the party,
her eyes rested on one foi^ — she turned pale, uttered a
faint cry, and fell senselesjSAon the floor.

Meanwhile Lord Donin^ale and his guests were
shown into the room next to that tenanted by the lady.

12 SHOWERS ARS ILLS BBTOND PATISNCE.

Properly speaking, both the rooms made one long apart-
ment for balls and county meetings, and the division
was formed by a thin partition, removeable at pleasure.
The hail now came on fast and heavy, the trees groaned,
the thunder roared ; and in the large dreary room there
was a palpable and oppressive sense of coldness and
discomfort. Valerie shivered — a fire was lighted, and
the Frenchwoman drew near to it.

"You are wet, my dear lady," said Lord Doning-
dale. " You should take off that close habit and have
H dried."

"Oh, no; what matters iti" said Valerie, bitterly,
and almost rudely.

" It matters everything," said Ernest; "pray be ruled."

" And do you care for me 1" murmured Valerie.

" Can you ask that question ?" replied Ernest, in the
same tone, and with affectionate and friendly warmth.

Meanwhile the good old lord had summoned the
ehambermaid, and with the kindly imperiousness of a
father made Valerie leave the room. The three gentle-
men, left together, talked of the storm, wondered how
long it would last, and debated the propriety of sending
to Doningdale for the carriage. While they spoke the
hail suddenly ceased, though clouds in the distant hori-
zon were bearing heavily up to renew the charge.
George Herbert, who was the most impatient of mor-
tals, especially of rainy weather in a strange place,
seized the occasion, and insisted on riding to Doning-
dale and sending back the carriage.

* " Surely a groom would do as well, George," said
the father.

" My dear father, no ; I should envy the rogue too
much. I am bored to death here. Marie will be fright-
ened about us. Brown Bess will take me back in
twenty minutes. I am a hardy fellow, you know.
Good-by."

Away darted the young sportsman, and in two min-
utes they saw him spur gayly from the inn door.

" It is very odd that / should have such a son," said
Lord Doningdale, musingly ; " a son who cannot amuse
himself indoors for two minutes together. I took
, great pains with his educatioa, too. Strange that peo-
ple should weary so muqfi of themselves that they
cannot brave the prospect of a few minutes passed in
reflection ; that a jBhower and the resources of their

TBS STRAMCn LADY. 18

own thmights are ever so galling ; rery strange indeed.
But it is a confounded climate this, certainly. I won-
der when it will clear np !"

Thus muttering, Lord Doningdale walked, or rather
marched, to and fro the room, with his hands in his
coat pockets, and his whip sticking perpendicularly out
of the right one. Just at this moment the waiter came
to announce that his lordship's groom was without, and
desired much to see him. Lord Doningdale had then
the pleasure of learning that his favourite grey hack-
ney, which he had ridden winter and summer for fif-
teen years, was taken with shivers, and, as the groom
expressed it, seemed to have " the collar [cholera 1] in
its bowels !''

Lord Doningdale turned pale, and hurried to the
stables without sa3dnff a word.

Maltravers, who, plunged in thought, had not over-
heard the low and brief conference between master
and groom, remained alone, seated by the fire, his
head buried in his bosom, and his arms folded.

Meanwhile, the lady who occupied the adjoining
chamber had recovered slowly from her swoon. She
put both hands to her temples as if trying to recol-
lect her thoughts. Hers was a fair, innocent, almost
childish face; and now, as a smile shot across it,
there was something so sweet and touching hi the
gladness it shed over that countenance, that you could
not have seen it without stnmg and almost painful
interest. It was the gladness of a person who has
knovm sorrow ! Suddenly she started up and said—
^*No, then! I do not dream. He is come back — ^he
is here — all will be well again ! Ha ! it n his voice.
Oh, bless him, it is his voice !*' She paused, her finger
on her lip, her face bent down. A low and indistinct
sound of voices reached her straining ear throngh the
thin door that divided her from Maltraversr She lis*
tened intently, but she could not overhear the import.
Her heart beat violently. "He is not alone!" she
murmured, mournfully. "I will wait till the sound
ceases, and then 1 will venture in !"

And what was the conversation carried on in that
chamber 1 We must return to Ernest. He was sittng
in the same thouffhtftil posture when Madame do St.
Ventadour returned. TheFrenchwoBiaao<^kiiivedwli«i

Vol. II.— B

i»

14 LOVE ON ONE SIDE.

she found herself alone with Ernest, and Ernest him-
self was not at his ease.

" Herbert has gone home to order the carriage, and
Lord Doningdale has disappeared, 1 scare know whither.
You do not, I trust, feel the worse for the rain ?"

" No," said Valerie.

" Shall you have any commands in London?" asked
Maltravers ; "I return to town to-morrow."

" So soon !" and Vsderie sighed. " Ah !" she added,
after a pause, ** we shall not meet again for years, per-
haps. Monsieur de St. Yentadour is to be appointed

ambassador to the Court, and so — and so. Well,

it is no matter. What has become of the friendsh^
we once swore to each other 1"

" It is here," said Maltravers, laying his hand on his
heart. '* Here, at least, lies the half of that friendship
which was my charge, and more than friendship, Ya-
lerie de St. Yentadour; respect, admiration, gratitude.
At a time of life when passion and fancy, most strong,
might have left me an idle and worthless voluptuary,
you convinced me that the world has virtue, and that
woman is too noble to be our toy — the idol of to-'8ay,
the victim of to-morrow. Your influence, Yalerie, left
me a more thoughtful man — I hope a better one."

" Oh !" said Madame de St. Yentadour, strongly af-
fected ; " I bless you for what you tell me : you cannot
know, you cannot guess how sweet it is to me. Now
I recognise you once more. What, what did my res-
olution cost me ? Now I aVn repaid !"

Ernest was moved by her emotion and by his own
remembrances ; he took her hand, and pressing it with
frank and respectful tenderness, ** I did not think, Ya-
lerie," said he, " when I reviewed the past, I did not
thinH that you loved me ; I was not vain enough for
that ; but, if so, how much is your character raised in my
eyes ; how provident, how wise your viiltue ! Happier and
better for both, our present feelings, each to each, than
if we had indulged a brief and guilty dream of passion,
at war with all that leaves passibn without remorse
and bliss without alloy. Now — ^"

" Now !" interrupted Yalerie, quickly, and fixing on
him her dark eyes, " now you love me no more !
Yes, it is better so. Well, I will go back to my cold
and cheerless state of life, and forget once more that
Heaven endowed me with a heart !"

THE WitNESS. 15

" Ah, Valerie ! esteemed, revered, still' l)eloyed, not
indeed with the fires of old, but with a deep, undying,
and holy tenderness. SpeaJc not thus to me. Let me*
not believe you unhappy ; let me think that, wise, sa-
gacious, brilliant as you are, you have employed your
gifts to reconcile yourself to a common lot. Still let
me look up to you when I would despise the circles in
-which you hve, and say — ' On that pedestal ^u altar is
yet placed to which the heart may bring the offerings
of the soul.'"

" It is in vain — in vain that I struggle," said Valerie,
half choked with emotion, and clasping her hands pas-
sionately. " Ernest, I love you still ; I am wretched to
think you love me no more ; 1 would give you nothing,
yet I exact all ; my youth is going, my beauty dimmed,
my very intellect is dulled by the life I lead ; and yet I
ask from you that which your young heart once felt
for me. Despise me, Maltravers, 1 am not what I
8«emed ; I am a hypocrite — despise me."

" No," said Ernest, again possessing himself of her
hand, and falling on his knee by her side. " No, never
to iJfe forgotten, ever to be honoured Valerie, hear me."
As he spoke he kissed the hand he held ; with the other
Valerie covered her face and wept bitterly, but in silence.
Ernest paused till the burst of her feelings had subsided,
her hand still in his — still warmed by his kisses — kisses
as pure as cavalier ever impressed on the hand of his
queen.

At that- time the door communicating with the next
room gently opened. A fair form, a form fairer and.
younger than that of Valerie de St. Ventadour, entered
the apartment ; the silence had deceived her ; she be-
lieved that Maltravers was alone. She had entered
with her heart upon her lips ; love, sanguine, hopeful
love in every vein, in every thought; she had entered,
dreaming that across that threshold life would dawn upon
her afresh ; that all would be once more as it had been,
when the common air was rapture. Thus she entered ;
and now she stood spellbound, terror-stricken, pale as
death ; life turned to stone ; youth, hope, bliss were for
ever over to her ! Ernest kneeling to another was all
she saw ! For this had she been faithful and true amid
storm and desolation ; for this had she hoped, dreamed,
lived. They did not note her; she was unseen, un-
heard. And Ernest, who would have gone barefoot to

16 80MB WILL THINK XmilSST A FOOL.

fhe end of the earth to find her, was in the very room
with her^ and knew it not!

'* Call me again — beloved T said Valerie, very sofUy.

" Beloved Valerie, hear me !** ^

These words were enough for the listener ; she turned
noiselessly away : humble as that heart was, it was proud.
The dpor closed on her ; she had obtained the wish of
her whole being ; Heaven had heard her prayer ; she
had once more seen the lover of her youth, and thence-
forth all was night and darkness to her. What matter
what became of her? One moment, what an effect it
y produces upon years! One moment! Virtue, crime,
glorv, shame, wo, rapture, rest upon moments ! Death
itself is but a moment, yet eternity is its successor !

*' Hear me !" continued EZmest, unconscious of what
had passedr— *' hear me ; let us be what human nature
and worldly fohns seldom allow those of opposite sexes
to be— friends to each other and to virtue also ; friends
through time and absence ; friends through all the vicis-
situdes of life ; friends on whose affection shame and
remorse never cast a shade ; friends who are to meet
hereafter ! Oh, there is no attachment so true, no tie so
holy as that which is founded on the old chivalry of
loyalty and honour ; and which is what love would be
if the heart and the soul were unadulterated by clay.'*

There was in Ernest's countenance an expression so
noble, in his voice a tone so thrilling, that Valerie was
brought back at once to the nature which a momentary
weakness had subdued. She looked at him with an
admiring and grateful gaze, and then said in a calm but
low voice, " Ernest, I understand you ; yes, your friend-
ship is dearer to me than love."

At this time they heard the voice of Lord Doning-
dale on the stairs. Valerie turned away. Maltravers,
as he rose, extended his hand ; she pressed it warmly,
and the spell was broken, the temptation conquered,
the ordeal passed. While Lord Doningdale entered
the room, the carriage, with Herbert in it, drove to the
door. In a few minutes the little party were within
the vehicle. As they drove away the ostlers were
harnessing the horses to the dark-green travelling-
carriage. From the window a sad and straining eye
gazed upon the gayer equipage of the peer ; that eye
which Maltravers would have given half his fortune to
meet again. But he did not look up ; and Alice Darvil
turned away, and her fate for Ufe was fixed ! ^

LETTER FROM A WOMAN OP THE WORLD. 17

CHAPTER XI.

fits of passion I h
will dare to tell."

" The foo
Is meditated action."

*' Strange fits of passion I have known,
AnSi

WORDSWOBTH.

" The food of hope

Wordsworth.

Maltravers left Doningdale the next day. He had
no further conversation with Valerie ; but when he took
leave of her, she placed in his hand a letter, which he
read as he rode slowly through the beech avenues of
the park. Translated, it ran thus : —

" Others would despise me for the weakness I showed
— but ^ou will not ! It is the sole weakness of a life
None can know what I have passed through — what
hours of dejection and gloom — I, whom so many envy !
Better to have been a peasant girl with love, than a
queen whose life is but a dull mechanism. You, Mal-
travers, I never forgot in absence ; and your image made
yet more wearisome and trite the things around me.
Years passed, and your name was suddenly in n^^n's
lips. I heard of you wherever I went — I could not shut
you from me. Your fame was as if you were conver-
sing by my side. We met at last, suddenly and unex-
pectedly. I saw that you loved me no more, and that
conquered all my resolves : anguish subdues the nerves
of the mind as sickness those of the body. And thus I
forgot, and humbled, and might have undone myself.
Jiister and better thoughts are once more awakened
within me, and when we meet again I shall be worthy
of your respect. I see how dangerous that luxury of
thought, that sin of discontent which I indulged. I go
back to life resolved to vanquish all that can interfere
with its claims and duties. Heaven guide and preserve
you, Ernest ! Think of me as one whom you will not
blush to have loved — whom you will not blush hereafter
to present to your wife. With so much that is soft as
well as great within you, you were not formed like me
—to be alone.

"Farewell!"
B8

16 CJEtAmmi AIJtlTBt.

MaltriTers read and reread this letter ; and when he
reached his home, he placed it carefully among tlw
thing[8 he most ralued. A lock of Alice's hair lay be-
side it — ^he did not think that either was dishonoured by
the contact.

With an effort he tamed himself once more to those
stem yet high connexions which literature makes with
real life. Perhaps there was a certain restlessness in
his heart which induced him ever to occupy his mind.
That was one of the busiest years of his life — ^the one
in which he did most to sharpen jealousy and confirm
fame.

CHAPTER XIL

** In effset he estered my ■iitrtment'*— (?a Bin.

** I am furprited, said he, at the caprice of fortune, who sonie-
timet delights in loading an execrable author with firroun, while
ahe leaves good writers to perish for wanf — Gt{ BUu,

It was just twelve months since his last interview
with Valerie, and Madame de St. Yentadour had long
since left England, when one morning, as Maltravers sat
alone in his study, Castraccio Caesarini was announced.

''Ah, my dear Castraccio, how are you V cried Mal-
travers, eagerly, as the opening door presented the form
of the Italian.

" Sir,** said Castraccio, with great stiffness, and speaks
ing in French, which was his wont when he meant to
be distant—" sir, I do not come to renew our former ac-
quaintance—you are a great man" ^here a bitter sneer),
" I an obscure one" (here Castraccio drew himseUT up) ;
^ I only come to discharge a debt to you which I find I
have incurred."

" What tone is this, Castraccio, and what debt do yoa
speak of!"

*' On my andval in town yesterday," said the poet*
solemnly, '* I went to the man whom you deputed somo
years smce to publish my little volume, to deinand aa
accoottl of its success ; and I found that it had cost one

▲N avthor's <)uarrel made up, 19

inindred and twenty pounds, deducting the sale of forty-
nine cojHes which had heen sold. Your books sell some
thousands, I am told. It is well conthved; mine fell
stillborn; no pains were taken with it — no matter" (a
wave of the arm). ** You discharged this debt, I.repay

rou : there is a check for the money. Sir, I have done ;
wish yon a good-day, and health to enjoy your repu*
tation."
" Why, CsBsanni, this is folly."
•'^ir— "

*' Yes, it is folly, for there is no folly equal to that of
throwing away friendship in a world where friendship
is so rare. You insinuate that I am to blame for any
neglect winch your work experienced. Your publisher
can tell you that I was more anxious about your book
than I have ever been about my own."

'* And the proof is that forty-nine copies were sold."

** Sit down, Castruccio, sit down and listen to rea-
son;" and Maltravers proceeded to explain, and sooth,
and console. He reminded the poor poet that his verses
were written in a foreign tongue; that even English
poets of great fame enjoyed but a limited sale for their
works ; that it was impossible to make the avaricious
public purchase what the stupid public would not take
an interest in; in short, he used all those arguments
which naturally suggested themselves as best calcula-
ted to convince and soften Castruccio : and he did this
with so much evident sympathy and kindness, that at
length the Italian could no longer justify his own resent-
ment. A reconciliation took place, sincere on the part
of Maltravers, hollow on the part of Caesarini ; for the
disappointed author could not forgive the successful
one.

'* And how long shall you stay in London?"

" Some months."

" Send for your luggage, and be my guest."

" No ; I have taken lodgings that suit me. I am
formed for soUtude."

" While you stay here you will, however, go into the
world."

'* Yes, I have some letters of introduction, and I hear
that the English can honour merit, even in an ItaUan."

'* Yoii hear the truth, and it will amuse you at least
to see our eminent men. They will receive you most
hospttably. Let me assist you as a cicerone."

80 AROUMBNTS ON LITERARY QUACKERIES.

" Oh, your valuable time—"

" Is at your disposal ; but where are you going T'

" It is Sunday, and I have had my curiosity excited

to hear a celebrated preacher, Mr. , who, they tell

me, is now more talked of than any author in London."

" They tell you truly ; I will go with you ; I myself

have not yet heard him, but proposed to do so this very

day."

" Are you not jealous of a man so much spoken of?"

" Jealous ! why I never set up for a popular preacher !

ce fCest pas mon mStier.^^

'* IC I were a successful author I should be jealous if
the dancing-dogs were talked of."

" No, my dear Caesarini, I am sure you would not
You are a little irritated at present by natural disap-
pointment ; but the man who has as much success as
he deserves is never morbidly jealous, even of a rival
in his own line : want of success sours us, but a Uttle
sunshine smiles away the vapours. Come, we have no
time to lose."
Maltravers took his hat, and the two young men bent

their way to chapel. Csesahni still retained the

singular fashion of his dress, though it was now made
of handsomer materials and worn with more coxcombry
and pretension. He had much improved in person:
had been much admired in Paris, and told that he looked
like a man of genius ; and with his black ringlets flow-
ing over his shoulders, his long mustaches, his broad
Spanish-shaped hat, and eccentric garb, he certainly did
not look like other people. He smiled with contempt
at the plain dress of his companion. '* I see," said he,
" that you follow the fashion, and look as if you passed
your hfe with elegans instead of students. I wonder
you condescend to such trifles as fashionably-shaped
hats and coats."

" It would be worse trifling to set up for originality
in hats and coats, at least in sober England. I was
born a gentleman, and I dress my outward frame like
others of my order. Because I am a writer, why shoud
I affect to be different from other men 1"

" I see that you are not above the weakness of your
countryman, Congreve," said Caesarini, ** who deemed
it finer to be a gentleman than an author."

" I always thought that anecdote misconstrued. Con-
greve had a proper and manly pride, to my judgment,

A FA8HI0NABLB PEBACHBR. 21

when he expressed a dislike to be visited merely as a
raree-show."

" But is it policy to let the world see that an authoi
is like other people ? Would he not create a deeper
personal interest if he showed that even in person
alone he was unlike the herd ! He ought to be seen
seldom — not to stale his presence — and to resort to the
arts that belong to the royalty of intellect as well as the
royalty of birth."

'* I dare say an author, by a little charlatanism of that
nature, might be more talked of, might be more adored
in the boarding-schools, and make a better picture in the
exhibition. But I think, if his mind be manly, he would
lose in self-respect at every quackery of the sort. And
my philosophy is, that to respect one^s self is worth all
the fame in the world."

Caesarini sneered and shrugged his shoulders ; it was
quite evident that the two authors had no sympathy
with each other.

They arrived at last at the chapel, and with some
difficulty procured seats.

Presently the service began. The preacher was a
man of unquestionable talent and fervid eloquence ; but
his theatrical arts, his affected dress, lus artificial tones
and gestures, and, above all, the fanatical mummeries
which he introduced into the House of God, disgusted
Maltravers, while they charmed, entranced, and awed
Caesarini. Xhe one saw a mountebank and imi)ostor —
the other recognised a profound artist and an inspired
prophet.

But while the discourse was drawing towards a close,
while the preacher was in one of his most eloquent
bursts — ^the ohs! ^d ahs! of which were the grand
prelude to the pathetic peroration — the dim outline of
a female form, m the distance, riveted the eyes and ab-
sorbed the thoughts of Maltravers. The chapel was
darkened, though it was broad daylight ; and the face
of the person that attracted Ernest's attention was con-
cealed by her head-dress and veil. But that bend of the
neck, so simply graceful, so humbly modest, recalled
to his heart but one image. Every one has, perhaps,
observed that there is a physiognomy (if the bull may be
pardoned) of farm as well as ^e, which it rarely hap-
pens that two persons possess in common. And this,
with most, is peculiarly maiked in the turn of the head,

88 A VISION.

the outline of the shoulders, and the ineffable something
that characterizes the postures of each individual in re<
pose. The more intently he gazed, the more firmly
Ernest was persuaded that he saw before him the long-
lost, the never-to-be-forgotten mistress of his boyish
days, and his fivst love. On one side of the lady in
Question sat an elderly gentleman, whose eyes were
nxed upon the preacher; on the other, a beautiful little
girl, with long fair ringlets, and that cast of features,
which, from its exquisite delicacy and expressive mild-
ness, painters and poets call the " angelic.'' These per-
sons appeared to belong to the same party. Maltravers
literally trembled, so great were his impatience and
agitation. Yet still, the dress of the supposed likeness
of Alice, the appearance of her companions, were so
evidently above the ordinary rank, that Ernest scarcely
ventured to yield to the suggestions of his own heart.
Was it possible that the daughter of Luke Darvil, thrown
upon the wide world, could have risen so far beyond
her circumstances and station ? At length the moment
came when he might resolve his doubts — the discourse
was concluded — the extemporaneous prayer was at an
end — ^the congregation broke up, and Maltravers pushed
his way, as well as he could, through the dense and
serried crowd. But every moment some vexatious ob-
struction, in the shape of a fat gentleman or three
close-wedged ladies, intercepted his progress. He lost
sight of the party in Question amid the profusion of tall
bonnets and waving plumes. He arrived at last, breath-
less and pale as death (so great was the struggle within
him), at the door of the chapel. He arrived in time to
see a plain carriage, with servants in gray undress liv-
eries, driving from the porch; and caught a glimpse,
within the vehicle, of the golden ringlets of a child.
He darted forward, he threw himself almost before the
horses. The coachman drew in, and with an angry
exclamation, very much like an oath, whipped his
horses aside and went off. But that momentary pause
sufficed. " It is she— it is ! Oh Heaven, it is Alice !"
murmured Maltravers : the whole place reeled before
his eyes, and he clung, overpowered and unconscious,
to a neighbouring lamp-post for support. But he re-
covered himself with an agonizing effort as the thought
struck upon his heart that he was about to lose sight
of her again for ever. And he rushed forwar '^'^ one

CONSCIENCE RECONCILED. 28

frantic, in pursuit of the carriage. But there was a vast
crowd of other carriages, besides stream upon stream
of foot-passengers — for the great and the gay resorted
to that place of worship as a fashionable excitement
in a dull day. And, after a weary and dangerous chase,
in which he had been nearly run over4hree times, Mal-
trayers halted at last, exhausted and in despair. Every
succeeding Sunday, for months, he went to the same
chapel, but in vain ; in vain, too, he resorted to every
public haunt of dissipation and amusement. Alice Dar-
vil he beheld no more.

CHAPTER XIII.

** Tell me, sir,
Have you cast up your state, rated your land,
And find it able to endure the change?"

The Noble Gentleman,

By degrees, as Maltravers sobered down from the
first shock of that unexpected meeting, and from the
prolonged disappointment that followed it, he became
sensible of a strange kind of happiness or contentment.
Alice was not in poverty ; she was not eating the un-
hallowed bread of vice, or earning the bitter wages of
laborious penury. He saw her in reputable, nay, op-
ulent circumstances. A dark nightmare, that had often,
amid the pleasures of youth or the triumphs of liter-
ature, weighed upon his breast, was removed. He
breathed more freely, he could sleep in peace. His
conscience could no longer say to him, " She who slept
upon thy bosom is a wanderer upon the face of the
earth ; exposed to every temptation, perishing, perhaps,
for want." That single sight of Alice had been like the
apparition of the injured dead conjured up at Heraclea
— whose sight could pacify the aggressor and exorcise
the spectres of remorse. He was reconciled with him-
self, and walked on to the future with a bolder step
and a statelier crest. Was she married to that staid
and sober-looking personage whom he had beheld with
her ? Was that child the offspring of their union ? He
hoped 80, for he loved her now as a brother. Poor

S4 EFFECT OF SOCIETY ON CJBSARIKI.

Alice! could she have dreamed, when she lay at h»
feet gazing up into his eyes, that a time would come
when Maltravers would thank God for the belief that
she was happy with another !

Ernest Maltravers now felt a new man : the relief
of conscience operated on his literary compositions.
A more buoyant and elastic spirit entered into them ;
they seemed to breathe as with a second youth.

Meanwhile Caesarini threw himself into the fashion-
able world, and, to his own surprise, wasfited and ca-
ressed. In fact, Castruccio was exactly the sort of
person to be made a lion of. The letters of introduc-
tion that he had brought from Paris were addressed to
those great personages in England between whom and
personages equally great in France politics makes a
bridge of connexion. Caesarini appeared to them as an
accomplished young man, brother-in-law to a distin-
guished member of the French Chamber. Maltravers,
on the other hand, introduced him to the literary dilet-
tanti, who admire all authors that are not rivals. The
singular costume of Caesarini, which would have revolt-
ed persons in an Enf^ishman, enchanted them in an
Italian. He looked, they said, like a poet. Ladies like
to have verses written to them; and Caesarini, who
talked very httle, made uj^ for it by scribbling eternall^r.
The young man^s head soon grew filled wim compari-
sons between himself in London and Petrarch at Avig-
non. As he had always thought that fanie was in the
gift of lords and ladies, and had no idea of the multitude,
he fancied himself already famous ; and, since one of
his strongest feelings was his jealousy of Maltravers,
he was delighted at being told he was a much more in-
teresting creature than that haughty personage, who
wore his neckloth like other people, and had not even
those indispensable attributes of genius, black curls
and a sneer. Fine society, which, as Madame de Stael
well says, depraves the frivolous mind and braces the
strong one, completed the ruin of all that was manly
in Caesarini's intellect. He soon learned to limit his
desire of effect or distinction to gilded saloons ; and his
vanity con1;ented itself upon the scraps and morsels
from which the lion heart of true ambition turns in
disdain. But this was not all. Caesarini was envious
of the greater affluence of Msdtravers. His own fortune
was in 9, small capital of eight or nine thousand pounds ;

VANITY FAIR. 25

but, thrown in the midst of the wealthiest society in
Europe, he could not bear to sacrifice a single claim
upon its esteem. He began to tajk of the satiety of
wealth, and young ladies listened to him with remark-
able interest when he did so ; he obtained the reputation
of riches ; he was too vain not to be charmed with it.
He endeavoured to maintain the claim by adopting the
extravagant excesses of the day. He bought horses —
he gave away jewels — he made love to a marchioness
of forty- two, who was very kind to him and very fond
of ecarte — ^he gambled — ^he was in the high road to de-
struction.
Vol. H.— C

BOOK VI.

UKuTcTv Ti Ttpmvdv.

Euripides— Jon, line 641.

" Perchance you say that gold's the arch-exceller,
And to be rich is sweet ?"

Ketvo S* oIk ivacxcrAv
Et/ceiv hifiv X'^^^'^f^ "^o^i KaKiotaiv.

Ibid., line 648.

" 'Tis not to be endured,
To yield our trodden path and turn aside,
Giving our place to knaves."

BOOK VI.

CHAPTER I.

" L'adresse et I'artilice ont passi dans mon coeur,
Qu'on a sous cet habit eta'esprit et de ruse !"

Regnard

It was a fine morning in July when a gentleman
who had arrived in town the night before — after an ab-
sence from England of several years — walked slowly
and musingly up that superb thoroughfare which con-
nects the Regent's Park with St. James's.

He was a man who, with great powers of mind, had
wasted his youth in a wandering, vagabond kind of life,
but who had worn away the love of pleasure, and begun
to awaken to a sense of ambition.

" It is astonishing how this city is improved," said he
to himself. " Everything gets on in this world with a
little energy and bustle, and everybody as well as eve-
rything. My old cronies, fellows not half so clever as
I am, are all doing well. There's Tom Stevens, my
very fag at Eton — snivelling little dog he was too ! just
made under secretary of state. Pearson, whose longs
and shorts I always wrote, is now head-master to the
human longs and shorts of a pubUc school — editing
Greek plays, and booked for a bishopric. Collier, I
see, by the papers, is leading his circuit; and Ernest
Maltravers (but he had some talent !) has made a name
in the world. Here am I, worth them all put together,
who have done nothing but spend half my little fortune
in spite of all my economy. Egad, this must have an
end. I must look to the main chance ; and yet, just
when I want his help the most, my worthy uncle thinks
fit to marry again. Humph — I'm too good for this
world."

While thus musing the soliloquist came in direct per-
sonal contact with a tall gentleman, who carried his head
very high in the air, and did not appear to see that he

30 UNCLE AND NEPHEW.

had nearly thrown our abstracted philosopher off his
lesfs.

" Zounds, sir, what do you mean V cried the latter.

" 1 beg your par — " began the other, meekly, when his
arm was seized, and the injured man exclaimed, *' Bless
me, sir, is it indeed you whom I see ?"

"Ha! LumleyV

" The same, and how fares it, my dear uncle 1 I did
not know you were in London. I only arrived last night.
How well you are looking !"

" Why, yes, Heaven be praised, I am pretty well."

" And happy in your new ties — ^you must present me
to Mrs. Templeton."

" Ehem," said Mr. Templeton, clearing his throat, and
with a slight but embarrassed smile, ** I never thought
I should marry again."

" Vhomme propose et Dieu dispose,''^ observed Lumley
Ferrers, for it was he.

" Gently, my dear nephew," replied Mr. Templeton,
gravely; "those phrases are somewhat sacrilegious — ^I
am an oldfashioned person, you know."

" Ten thousand apologies."

" One apology will suffice ; these hyperboles of phrase
are almost sinful."

" Confounded old prig !" thought Ferrers ; but he
bowed sanctimoniously.

" My dear uncle, I have been a wild fellow in my day,
but with years comes reflection, and, under your gui-
dance, if I may hope for it, I trust to grow a wiser and a
better man."

" It is well, Lumley," returned the uncle, " and I am
very glad to see you returned to your own country.
Will you dine with me to-morrow? I am living near
Fulham. You had better bring your carpet-bag, and
stay with me some days ; you will be heartily welcome,
especially if you can shift without a foreign servant. I
have a great compassion for papists, but — "

" Oh, my dear uncle, do not fear ; I am not rich enough
to have a foreign servant, and have not travelled over
three quarters of the globe without learning that it is
possible to dispense with a valet."

*• As to being rich enough," observed Mr. Templeton,
with a calculating air, " seven hundred and ninety-five
pounds ten shillings a year will allow a man to keep
iwo servants, if he pleases ; but I am glad to find you

nRMBJtS AND ]fALTA4TS&f . Bl

economical, at all events. We meet U>-monrow, then, at
six o'clock."

" Au revoir — ^I mean, God bless you."
Tiresome old gentleman, that," muttered Ferrers,

and not so cordial as formerly; perhaps his wife is
enciente, and he is going to do me the injustice of having
another heir. I must look to this, for without riches I
had better go back and live au cinguieme at Paris."

With this conclusion Lumley quickened his pace, and
soon arrived in Seamore Place. In a few moments more
he was in the library, well stored with books, and deco^
rated with marble busts and images from the studios of
Canova and Flaxman.

'* My master, sir, will be down immediately," said the
servant who admitted him : and Ferrers tlnrew himself
into a sofa, and contemplated the apartment with an lur
half envious and half cynical.

Presently the door opened, and " My dear Ferrers !"
** Well, man cher, how are you V were the salutations
hastily exchanged.

After the first sentences of inquiry, gratulation, and
welcome had cleared the way for more general conver-
sation, " Well, Maltravers," said Ferrers, " so here we
are together again, and after a lapse of so many years !
both older, certainly, and you, I suppose, wiser. At all
events, people think you so, and that's all that's impor-
tant in the question. Why, man, you are looking as
young as ever, only a little paler and thinner ; but look
at me, I am not very much past thirty, and I am almost
an old man — bald at the temples^— crows' feet, too, eh!
Idleness ages one damnably."

" Pooh, Lumley, I never saw you look better. 'And
you are really come to settle in England?"

" Yes, if I can afford it. But, at my age, and after
having seen so much, the life of an idle, ol^cure gan^on
does not content me. I feel that the world's opinion,
which I used to despise, is growing necessary to me.
I want to be something. What can I be ? Don't look
alarmed, I won't rival you. I dare say literary reputa-
tion is a fine thing, but I desire some distinction more
substantial and worldly. You know your own country
— ^give me a map of the roads to power."

'*To power! Oh, nothing but law, politics, and
riches."

" For law I am too old ; politics, perhaps, might

82 PSRRSR8 AND MALTRATERB.

suit me , but riches, my dear Ernest — ah, how I long
for a good account with my banker !"

" Well, patience and hope — are you not a rich uncle's
heir V

" I don't know," said Ferrers, very dolorously ; "the
old gentleman has married again, and may have a fam-
ily."

" Married — to whom V

"A widow, I hear; I know nothing more, except that
she has a child already. So you see she has got into a
cursed way of having children ; and perhaps, by the
time I'm U)rt3r, I shall see a whole covey of cherubs
flyinff away with the great Templeton property !"

" Ha, ha ! your despair sharpens your wit, Lumley ;
but why not take a leaf out of your uncle's book, and
marry yourself ? Find an heiress if you must give up
the hentage."

" Sensibly said — more sensibly than I could have fan-
cied any suggestion coming from a man who writes
books, especially poetry; and your advice is .not to be
despised ; for rich I will be, and, as the fathers (I don't
mean of the church, but in Horace) told the rising gen-
eration, the first thing is to resolve to be rich — and it is
only the second thing to consider how."

" Meanwhile, Ferrers, you will be my guest 1"

" I'll dine with you to-day ; but to-morrow I am off
to Fulham, to be introduced to my aunt. Can't you
fancy her 1 gray gros de Naples gown, gold chain with
an eyeglass — rather fat — ^two pugs and a parrot ! * Start
not, this is fancy's sketch !' I have not yet seen the
respectable relative with my physical optics. What
shall we have for dinner 1 Let me choose, you were
always a bad caterer."

As Ferrers thus rattled on, Maltravers felt himself
growing younger ; old times and old adventures crowd-
ed fast upon him ; and the two friends spent a most
agreeable day together. It was only the next morning
that Maltravers, in thinking over the various conversa-
tions that had passed between them, was forced reluc-
tantly to acknowledge that the inert selfishness of Lum-
ley Ferrers seemed now to have hardened into a reso-
lute and systematic want of principle, which might, per-
haps, make him a dangerous and designing man, if urged
by circumstances into action.

THE CHILD. M

CHAPTER II.

** Dauph. Sir, I must speak to you. I have been long your despised
kinsman.

'• Morose. Oh, what thou wilt, nephew." — Epicene.

" Her silence is dowry enough— exceedingly soft sp<Aen ; thriflf
of her speech, that spends but six words a day. — Ibid.-

The coach dropped Mr. Ferrers at the gate of a villa
about three miles irom town. The lodgekeeper charged
himself with the carpet-bag, and Ferrers strolled, with
his hands behind him (it was his favourite mode of dis-
posing of them), through the beautiful and elaborate
pleasure-grounds.

" A very nice, snug little box (jointure-house, I sup-
pose!). I would not grudge that, I'm siure, if I had but
the rest. But here, I suspect, comes madame's first
specimen of the art of having a family.*' This last
thought was extracted from Mr. Ferrers's contempla-
tive brain by a lovely little girl, who came running up
to him, fearless and spoiled as she was ; and, after in-
dulging in a tolerable stare, exclaimed, '* Are you come
to see papa, sir?"

" Papa ! the dense !" thought Lumley ; " and who is
papa, my dear V

" Why, mamma's husband. He is not my papa by
rights."

" Certainly not, my love, not by rights — ^I compre-
hend."

" Eh !"

" Yes, I am going to your papa by wrongs-^Mr. Tem
pie ton."

" Oh, this way, then."

"You are very fond of Mr. Templeton, my little
angel."

" To be sure I am. You have not seen the rocking-
horse he is going^to give me."

" Not yet, sweet child ! And how is mamma?"

" Oh, poor, dear mamma," said the child, with a sud-
den change of voice, and tears in her eyes. " Ah| she
is not well."

84 QVIBTIONS.

" In the family-way, to a dead certainty !" muttereil
Ferrers, with a groan ; " but here is my uncle. Horrid
name! uncles were always wicked fellows. Richard
the Third, and the man who did something or other to
the children in the wood, were a joke to my hard-
hearted old relation, who has robbed me with a widow !
The lustful, liquorish old — My dear sir, I^m so glad to
see you!"

Mr. Templeton, who was a man very cold in his
manners, and always either looked over people's heads
or down upon the ground, just touched his nephew's
outstretched hand, and telling him he was welcome,
observed that it was a very fine afternoon.

** Very, indeed ; sweet place this ; you see, by-the-
way, that I have already made acquaintance with my
fair cousin-in-law. She is very pretty."

" I really think she is," said Mr. Templeton, with
some warmth, and gazing almost fondly at the child,
who was now throwing huttercups up in the air, and
trying to catch them ; Mr. Ferrers wished in his heart
that they had been brickbats !

" Is she like her mother ?" asked the nephew.

" Like who, sir T' '

" Her mother— Mrs. Templeton."

" No— not very ; there is an air, perhaps ; but the
likeness is not remarkably strong. Would you not like
to go to your room before dinner ?"

'^ Thank you. Can I not first be presented to Mrs.
Tem— "

" She is at her devotions, Mr. Lumley," interrupted
Mr. Templeton, grimly.

" The she-hypocrite !" thought Ferrers. " Oh, I am
delighted your pious heart has found so congenial a
helpmate!"

** It is a great blessing, and I am grateful for it. This
is the way to the house."

Lumley, now forcibly installed in a grave bedroom,
with dimity curtains, and dark brown paper with light
brown stars on it, threw himself into a large chair, and
yawned and stretched with as much fervour as if he
could have yawned and stretched himself into his un-
cle's property. He then slowly exchanged his morn-
ing-dress for a quiet suit of black, and thanked his stars
that, amid all his sins, he had never been a dandy, and
had never rejoiced in a fine waistcoat — ^a criminal pos-

MRS. TEMPLETON. 35

session that he well knew would have entirely hardened
his uncle's conscience against him. He tarried in his
room till the second bell summoned him to descend ;
and then, entering the drawing-room, which had a cold
look even in July, found his uncle standing by the inan-
telpiece, and a young, slight, handsome woman, half
buried in a huge, but not comfortable,/<m^eiit/.

" Your aunt, Mrs. Templeton ; madam, my nephew,
Mr. Lumley Ferrers," said Templeton, with a wave of
the hand. " John, dinner !"

" I hope I am not late !"

" No," said Templeton, gently, for he had always liked
his nephew, and began now to thaw towards him a little
on seeing that Lumley put a good face upon the new
state of affairs.

" No, my dear boy, no ; but I think order and punc-
tuality cardinal virtues in a well-regulated family."

"Dinner, sir," said the butler, opening the folding-
doors at the end of the room.

*• Permit me," said Lumley, offering his arm to the
aunt. " What a lovely place this is !"

Mrs. Templeton said something in reply, but what it
was Ferrers could not discover, so low and choked was
ihe voice.

" Shy," thought he ; " odd for a widow ! but that's
the way those husband-buriers take us in !"

Plain as was the general furniture of the apartment,
the natural ostentation of Mr. Templeton broke out in
the massive value of the plate, and the number of the
attendants. He was a rich man, and he was proud of
his riches ; he knew it was respectable to be rich, and
he thought it was moral to be respectable. As for the
dinner, Lumley knew enough of his uncle's tastes to be
prepared for viands and wines, that even he (fastidious
gourmand as he was !) did not despise.

Between the intervals of eating Mr. Ferrers endeav-
oured to draw his aunt into conversation, but he found
all his ingenuity fail him. There was, in the features
of Mrs. Templeton, an expression of deep but calm
melancholy, that would have saddened most persons to
look upon, especially in one so young and lovely. It
was evidently something beyond shyness or reserve that
made her so silent and subdued, and even in her silence
there was so much natural sweetness, that Ferrers
could not ascribe her manner to haughtiness or the de-

S6 DIAMOND CtTT DIAXOKD.

•ire to repel. He was rather puzzled ; " for though,"
thought he, sensibly enough, " my uncle is not a youth,
he is a very rich fellow ; and how any widow, who is
married again to a rich old fellow, can be melancholy,
passes my understanding !"

Templeton, as if to draw attention from his wife's
taciturnity, talked more than usual. He entered largely
into politics, and regretted that, in times so critical, he
was not in pariiament.

" Did I possess your youth and your health, Lumley,
I would not neglect my country — popery is abroad."

" I myself should like very much to be in parliament,"
said Lumley, boldly.

" I dare say you would," returned the uncle, dryly.
" Pariiament is very expensive— only fit for those who
have a large stake in the country. Champagne to Mr.
Ferrers."

Lumley bit his lip, and spoke little during the rest of
the dinner. Mr. Templeton, however, waxed gracious
by the time the dessert was on the table ; and began
cutting up a pineapple, with many assurances to Lumley
that gardens were nothing without pineries. " When-
ever you settle in the country, nephew, be sure you
have a pinery."

" Oh, yes," said Lumley, almost bitterly, " and a pack
of hounds, and a French cook ; they will all suit my
fortune very well."

" You are more thoughtful on pecuniary matters than
you used to be," said the uncle.

"Sir," replied Ferrers, solemnly, "in a very short
time I shall be what is called a middle-aged man."

" Humph !" said the host.

There was another silence. Lumley was a man, as
we have said or implied before, of great knowledge of
human nature, at least the ordinary sort of it, and he
now revolved in his mind the various courses it might
be wise to pursue towards his rich relation. He saw
that, in delicate fencing, his uncle had over him the
same advantage that a tall man has over a short one
with the physical sword-play ; by holding his weapon in
a proper position, he kept the other at arm's length.
There was a grand reserve and dignity about the nfian
who had something to give away, of which Ferrers^
however actively he might shift his ground and flourish
hie rapier, could not break the defence. He determined^

DIAMOND CUT DUMOMD. '37

therefore, upon a new game, for which his fcinkness
of manner admirably adaqsted him. Just as he formed
this resolution, Mrs. Templeton rose, and with a gentle
bow, and soft, though languid smile, glided from the
room. The two gentlemen resettled themselves, and
Templeton pushed the bottle to Ferrers.

" Help yourself, Lumley ; your travels seem to have
deprived you of your high spirits ; you are pensive."

" Sir," s;iid Ferrers, abruptly, " I wish to consult you."

" Oh, young man, you have been guilty of some ex-
cess — you have gambled — you have—"

" I have done nothing, sir, that should make me less
'worthy your esteem. I repeat, I wish to consult you ; |
I have outlived the hot days of my youth ; I am alive ^
to the claims of the world. I have' talents, I believe,
and I have application, I know. I wish to fill a position
in the world that may redeem my past indolence and
do credit to my family. Sir, I set your example before ^
me, and I now ask your counsel with the determination ^
to follow it."

Templeton was startled ; he half shaded his face with
his hand, and gazed searchingly upon the high forehead
and bold eyes of his nephew. " 1 believe you are sin-
cere," said he, after a pause.

" You may well believe so, sir."

" Well, I will think of this. I like an honourable am*
bition — ^not too extravagant a one, that is sinful; but
a respectable station in the world is a proper object of
desire, and wealth is a blessing; because," added the
rich man, taking another sUce of the pineapple, " it en-
ables us to be of use to our fellow-creatures !"

*'Sir, then," said Ferrers, with daring animation,
'* then I avow that my ambition is precisely of the kind
you speak of. I am obscure, 1 desire to be reputably
known ; my fortune is mediocre, I desire it to be great.
I ask you for nothing — I know your generous heart;
but I wish independently to work out my ovm career !"

"Lumley," said Templeton, "I never esteemed you
80 much as I do now. Listen to me ; I will confide in
you ; I think the government are under obligations to
me.**

** I know it,'* exclaimed Ferrers, whose eyes sparkled
at the thought of a sinecure, for sinecures then existed !

" And," pursued the uncle, " I intend to ask them a
'fevour in return.**

Vol. IL— D

38 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.

" Oh, sir !"

" Yes ; I think, mark me, with management and ad-
dress, I may — "

" Well, my dear sir !" ,

" Obtain a barony for myself and heirs. I trust I
shall soon have a family."

Had somebody given Lumley Ferrers a hearty cuff on
the ear, he would have thought less of it than of this
wind-up of his uncle's ambitious projects. His jaw fell,
his eyes grew an inch larger, and he remained perfectly
speechless.

" Ay," pursued Mr. Templeton, " 1 have long dreamed
of this ; my character is spotless, my fortune great. I
have ever exerted my parliamentary influence in favour
of ministers ; and in this commercial country no man
has higher claims than Richard Templeton to the hon-
ours of a virtuous, loyal, and reUgious state. Yes, my
boy, I Uke your ambition ; you see I have some of it
myself ; and, since you are sincere in your wish to tread
in my footsteps, 1 think I can obtain you a junior part-
nership in a highly respectable establishment Let me
see, your capital now is — "

" Pardon me, sir," interrupted Lumley, colouring with
indignation, despite himself; " I honour commerce much,
but my paternal relations are not such as would allow
me to enter into trade. And, permit me to add," contin-
ued he, seizing with instant adroitness the new weakness
presented to him — " permit me to add, that those rela-
tions, who have been ever kind to me, would, properly
managed, be highly efficient in promoting your own
views of advancement ; for your sake I would not break
with them. Lord Saxingham is still a minister — nay,
he is in the cabinet."

"Hem — Lumley — hem!" said Templeton, thought-
fully ; " we will consider — ^we will consider. Any more
wine 1"

" No, I thank you, sir."

" Then I'll just take my evening stroll, and think over
matters. You can rejoin Mrs. Templeton. And, I say,
Lumley, I read prayers at nine o'clock. Never forget
your Maker, and he will not forget you. The barony
will be an excellent thing, eh ? — an English peerage-—
yes— an English peerage ! Very different from your
beggarly countships abroad !"

So saying, Mr. Templeton rang for lus hat and canei,

)

STUDIES OF MRS. TSMPLETON. 39

and stepped into the lawn from the window of the dining-
room.

*' * The world's mine oyster, which I with sword will
open,' " muttered Ferrers ; " I will mould this selfish
old man to my purpose ; for, since 1 have neither genius
to write nor eloquence to declaim, I will at least see
whether I have not cunning to plot and courage to act.
Conduct— conduct — conduct — there lies my talent; and
what is conduct but a steady walk from a design to its
execution ?"

With these thoughts Ferrers sought Mrs. Templeton.
He opened the folding-doors very gently, for all his
habitual movements were quick and noiseless, and per-
ceived that Mrs. Templeton sat by the window, a;id that
she seemed engrossed with a book which lay open on a
little work-table before her.

" Fordyce's Advice to Young Married Women, I sup-
pose. Sly jade ! However, I must not have her against
me."

He approached; still Mrs. Templeton did not note
him, nor was it till he stood facing ner that he himself
observed that her tears were falling fast over the page.

He was a little embarrassed, and, turning towards the
window, affected to cough, and then said, without look-
ing at Mrs. Templeton, " I fear 1 have disturbed you."

" No," answered the same low, stifled voice that had
before replied to Lumley's vain attempts to provoke
conversation — '* it was a melancholy employment, and
perhaps it is not right to indulge it."

*' May I inquire what author so affected you ?"

" It is but a volume of poems, and I am no judge of
poetry ; but it contains thoughts which — which — " Mrs.
Templeton paused abruptly, and Lumley quietly took
up the book.

" Ah," said he, turning to the title-page—" my friend
ought to be much flattered."

" Your friend ?"

" Yes ; this, I see, is by Ernest Maltravers, a very in-
timate ally of mine."

" I should like to see him," cried Mrs. Templeton,
almost with animation ; " 1 read but little ; it was by
chance that I met with one of his books, and they are
as if I heard a dear friend speaking to me. Ah I I should
like to see him !"
• ** rm sure, madam*" said the voice of a third person,

40 THE SAINT UPON AUTHORS.

in an austere and rebuking accent, " I do not see what
good it would do your immortal soul to see a man who
writes idle verses, which appear to me, indeed, highly
immoral. I just looked into that volume this morning,
and found nothing but trash — ^love-sonnets, and such
stuff."

Mrs. Templeton made no reply ; and Lumley, in order
to change the conversation, which seemed a little too
matrimonial for his taste, said, rather awkwardly, *' You
are returned very soon, sir."

" Yes, I don't like walking in the rain !"

" Bless me, it rains, so it does — I had not observed — "

" Are you wet, sir ? had you not better—" began the
wife, timidly.

" No, ma'am, I'm not wet, I thank you. By-the-by,
nephew, this new author is a friend of yours. 1 won-
der a man of his family should condescend to turn
author. He can come to no good. I hope you will
drop his acquaintance ; authors are very unprofitable as-
sociates, I'm sure. I trust I shall see no more of Mr.
Maltravers's books in my house."

" Nevertheless, he is well thought of, sir, and makes
no mean figure in the world," said Lumley, stoutly ; for
he was by no means disponed to give up a friend who
might be as useful to him as Mr. Templeton himself.

" Figure or no figure, I have not had many dealings
with authors in my day ; and when I had I always re-
pented it. Not sound, sir, not sound— all cracked some-
where. Mrs. Templeton, have the kindness to get the
prayer-book ; my hassock must be fresh stuffed, it gives
me quite a pain in my knee. Lumley, will you ring
the belli Your aunt is very melancholy. True reli-
gion is not gloomy ; we will read a sermon on cheer-
fulness."

"So, so," said Mr. Ferrers to himself, as he un-
dressed that night — " I see that my uncle is a little dis-
pleased with mv aunt's pensive face — a Uttle jealous of
her thinking of anything but himself. Tant mierAx — I
must work upon this discovery ; it will not do for them
to live too happily with each other. And what with
that lever, and what with his ambitious projects, I think
I see a way to push the good things of this world a few
inches nearer to Lumley Ferrers."

K mTKE AND AN HIIRE88. 41

CHAPTER HI.

** The pride, too, of her step, ta lightm
Along the unconscious earth she went,
Seem'd that of one born with a right
To walk some heavenlier element."

Loves (^ the Afig^,

" Can it be
That these fine impulses, these lofty thoughts
Burning with their own beauty, are but given
To make me the low slave of vanity ?"

Erinna,

" Is she not too ^r
Even to think of maiden's sweetest care ?
The mouth and brow are contrasts."

Ibid.

It was two or three evenings after the date of the
last chapter, and there was what the newspapers call a
select party in one of the noblest mansions in London.
A young lady, on whom all eyes were bent, and whose
beauty might have served the painter for a model of a
S«miramis or Zenobia. more majestic than became lier
years, and so classically faultless as to have something
cold and statue-like in its haughty lineaments, was mo-
ving through the crowd that murmured applauses as
she passed. This lady was Florence Lascelles, the
daughter of Lumley^s great relation, the Earl of Saxing-
ham, and supposed to be the richest heiress in England.
Lord Saxingham himself drew aside his daughter as she
swept along.

*• Florence," said he, in a whisper, " the Duke of ••••
is greatly struck with you — ^be civil to him — I am about
to present him."

So saying, the earl turned to a small, dark, stiff-look-
ing man, of about twenty-eight years of age, at his left,
and introduced the Duke of *•** to Lady Florence Las-
celles. The duke was unmarried ; it was an introduc-
tion between the greatest match and the wealthiest
heiress in the peerage.

" Lady Florence," said Lord Saxingham, " is as fond
of horses as yourself, duke, though not quite so good a
Judge."

4i A DXJKI AND AN HBl&EBff.

" I confess I do like horses," said the duke, with an
ingenuous air.

Lord Saxingham moved away.

Lady Florence stood mute; one glance of bright
contempt shot from her large eyes ; her lip slightly
curled, and she then half turned aside, and seemed to
forget that her new acquaintance was in existence.

His grace, like most great personages, was not apt
to take offence, nor could he, indeed, ever suppose that
any slight towards the Duke of **** could be mtended ;
still he thought it would be proper in Lady Florence to
begin the conversation ; for he himself, though not shy,
was habitually silent, and accustomed to be saved the
fatigue of defraying the small charges of society. After
a pause, seeing, however, that Lady Florence remained
speechless, he began.

" You ride sometimes in the park, Lady Florence f

" Very seldom."

" It is, indeed, too warm for riding at present."

** I did not say so."

" Hem — I thought you did."

Another pause.

" Did you speak. Lady Florence 1"

« No."

*' Oh ! I beg pardon — Lord Saxingham is looking very
well."

" I am glad you think so."

"Your picture in the exhibition scarcely ^does you
justice, Lady Florence ; yet Lawrence is usually nap-
py."

" You are very flattering," said Lady Florence, with
a lively and perceptible impatience in her tone and
manner. The young beauty was thoroughly spoiled ;
and now all the scorn of a scornful nature was drawn
forth, by observing the envious eyes of the crowd were
bent upon one whom the Duke of **** was actually
talking to. Brilliant as were her own powers of con-
versation, she would not deign to exert them ; she was
an aristocrat of intellect rather than of birth, and she
took it into her head that the duke was an idiot. She
was very much mistaken. If she had but broken up
the ice, she would have found that the water below was
not shallow. The duke, in fact, like many other Eng-
lishmen, though he did not like the trouble of showinff
forth, and had an ungainly manner, was a man who haa

C0NQTIBST8 OF A COQUETTB. 4$

read a good deal, possessed a sound head and an hon-
ourable mind, though he did not know what it was to
love anybody, to care much for anything, and was at
once perfectly sated, and yet perfectly contented ; for
apathy is the combination of satiety and content.

StiU Florence judged of him as Uvely persons are apt
to judge of the sedate : besides, she wanted to proclaim
to him and to everybody else how little she cared for
dukes and great matches ; she, therefore, with a slight
inclination of her head, turned away, and extended her
hand to a dark young man, who was gazing on her with
that respectful, but unmistakable admiration, which
proud women are never proud enough to despise.

** Ah, signor," said she, in Italian, " I am so glad to
see you ; it is a relief, indeed, to find genius in a crowd
of nothings."

So saying, the heiress seated herself on one of those
convenient couches which hold but two, and beckoned
the Italian to her side. Oh, how the vain heart of Cas-
truccio Caesarini beat! What visions of love, rank,
wealth, already flitted before him !

" I almost fancy," said Castruccio, " that the old days
of romance are returned, when a queen could turn from'
princes and warriors to listen to a troubadour."

*' Troubadours are now more rare than warrior and
princes," replied Florence, with gay animation, which
contrasted strongly with the coldness she had manifested
to the Duke of •***, " and therefore it would not now
be a very great merit in a queen to fly from dulness
and insipidity to poetry and wit."

" Ah, say not wit," said Caesarini ; " wit is incompati-
ble with the grave character of deep feelings ; incom-
patible with enthusiasm, with worship ; incompatible
with the thoughts that wait upon Lady Florence Las-
celles."

Florence coloured and slightly frowned ; but the im-
mense distinction between her position and that of the
young foreigner, with her own inexperience, both of
real life and the presumption of vain hearts, made her
presently forget the flattery that would have offended
ner in another. She turned the conversation, however,
into general channels, and she talked of Italian poetry
with a warmth and eloquence worthy of the theme.
While they thus conversed a new guest had arrived,
who, from the spot where he stood, engaged wiui Lord

44 lumlby'a appbarakcb.

Saxingham, fixed a steady and scrutinizing gaze upon
the pair.

" Lady Florence has indeed improved," said this new
guest. "1 could not have conceived that England
boasted any one half so beautiful."

" She certainly is handsome, my dear Lumley ; the
Lascelles cast of countenance," replied Lord Saxingham,
'* and so gifted ! She is positively learned ; quite a bas
bleu. I tremble to think of the crowd of poets and
painters who will make a fortune out of her enthusiasm.
Entre nous, Lumley, I could wish her married to a man
of sober sense, like the Duke of •••*, for sober sense
is exactly what she wants. Do observe, she has been
just half an hour flirting with that odd-looking ad-
venturer, a Signor Caesarini, merely because he writes
sonnets and wears a dress like a stage-player !"

" It is the weakness of the sex, my dear lord," said
Lumley ; " they like to patronise, and they dote upon
all oddities, from China monsters to cracked poets.
But I fancy, by a restless glance cast every now and
then around the room, that my beautiful cousin has in
her something of the coquette."

" There you are quite right, Lumley," returned Lord
Saxingham, laughing ; " but I will not quarrel with her
for breaking hearts and refusing hands, if she do but
grow steady at last, and settle into the Duchess of

•

"Duchess of ••••!" repeated Lumley, absently;
" well, I will go and present myself. I see she is grow-
ing tired of the signor. I will sound her as to the ducal
impressions, my dear lord."

" Do, /dare not," replied the father ; " she is an excel-
lent girl, but heiresses are always contradictory. It
was very foolish to deprive me of all control over her
fortune. Come and see me again soon, Lumley. I
suppose you are going abroad 1"

" No, I shall settle in England ; but, of my prospects
and plans, more hereafter."

With this Lumley quietly glided away to Florence
There was something in Ferrers that was remarkable
from its very simplicity. His clear, sharp features,
with the short hair and high brow — the absolute plain-
ness of his dress, and the noiseless, easy, self-collected
calm of all his motions, made a strong contrast to the
showy Italian, by whose side he now stood. Florence

THS cousin's conysesb. , 46

looked up at him with some little surprise at his intru-
sion.

" Ah, you don't recollect me !" said Lumley, with his
pleasant laugh. " Faithless Imogen, after all our vows
of constancy ! Behold your Alonzo !

* The wonns they crept in and the worms they crept out.*

Don't you remember how you trembled when I told you
that true story, as we

* Conversed as we sat on the green V ''

" Oh !" cried Florence, " it is indeed you, my dear
cousin, my dear Lamley. What an age since we parted !"

'* Don't talk of age — ^it is an ugly word to a man of
my years. Pardon, signer, if I disturb you."

And here Lumley, with a low bow, slid coolly into the
place which Caesarini, who had shyly risen, left vacant
for him. Castruccio looked disconcerted ; but Florence
had forgotten him in her deUght at seeing Lumley, and
Caesarini moved discontentedly away, and seated him-
self at a distance.

*' And I come back," continued Lumley, " to find you
a confirmed beauty and a professional coquette. Don't
blush !"

" Do they indeed call me a coquette V

** Oh, yes, for once the world is just."

"Perhaps I do deserve the reproach. Oh, Lumley,
how I despise all that I see and hear !"

" What ! even the Duke of •**• ?"

" Yes, I fear even the Duke of •*** is no exception."

" YoOr father will go mad if he hear you."

" My father ! my poor father ! yes, he thinks the ut-
most that I, Florence Lascelles, am made for, is to wear
a ducad coronet and give the best balls in London."

*' And, pray, what was Florence Lascelles made for V

" Ah ! I cannot answer the question. I fear for Dis-
content and Disdain."

" You are an enigma — ^but I will take pains, and not
rest till I solve you."

" I defy you."

" Thanks— better defy than despise."

" Oh, you must be strangely altered if I can despise
y(m."

" Indeed— what do you remember of me t"

^* That you were frank, bold, and, therefore, I sup*

46 TAB THREE RIVALS.

pose, true; that you shocked my aunts and ray father
by your contempt for the vulgar hypocrisies of our con-
ventioual hfe. Oh, no ! I cannot despise you."

Lumley raised his eyes to those of Florence — he
gazed on her long and earnestly — ambitious hopes rose
high within him.

" My fair cousin," said he, in an altered and serious
tone, " I see something in your spirit kindred to mine ;
and I am glad that yours is one of the earUest voices
which confirm my new resolves on my return to busy
England !"

" And those resolves 1"

" Are an Englishman's — energetic and ambitious."

" Alas, ambition ! How many false portraits are there
of the great original !"

Lumley thought he had found a clew to the heart of
his cousin, and he began to expatiate, with unusual elo-
quence, on the nobleness of that daring sin which " lost
angels heaven." Florence listened to him with atten-
tion, but not with sympathy. Lumley was deceived.
His was not an ambition that could attract the fastid-
ious but high-souled idealist. The selfishness of his
nature broke out in all the sentiments that he fancied
would seem to her most elevated. Place — power — ti-
tles — all these objects were low and vulgar to one who
saw them daily at her feet.

At a distance the Duke of **** continued from time
to time to direct his cold gaze at Florence. He did not
like her the less for not seeming to court him. He had
something generous within him, and he could under-
stand her. He went away at last, and thought serious-
ly of Florence as a wife. Not a wife for companion-
ship, for friendship, for love, but a wife who could lake
the trouble of rank off his hands — do him honour, and
raise him an heir, whom he might flatter himself would
he his own. ., t ' j. . '

From his comer also, with dreams yet more vain
and daring, Castruccio Caesarini cast his eyes upon the
queenlike brow of the great heiress. Oh yes, she had
a soul — she could disdain rank and revere genius!
What a triumph over De Montaigne — Maltravers — all
the world, if he, the neglected poet, could win the hand
for which the magnates of the earth sighed in vain!
Pure and lofty as he thought himself, it was her oirth
and her wealth which Caesarini adored in Florence.

THE AUTHOR. 47

And Lumley, nearer perhaps to the prize than either,
yet still far off, went on conversing, with eloquent lips
and sparkling eyes, while his cold heart was planning
every word, dictating every glance, and laying out (for
the most worldly are often the most visionary) the
chart for a royal road to fortune. And Florence Las-
celles, when the crowd had dispersed and she sought
her chamber, forgot all three — and with that morbid
romance often peculiar to those for whom Fate smiles
the most, mused over the ideal image of the one she
could love — " in maiden meditation not fancy free !"

CHAPTER IV.

" In mea vesanas habui dispendia vires
£t valui paenas fortis in ipsa meas."

Ovid.

" Then might my breast be read within,
A. thousand volumes would be written there. **

Earl op Stbrlino.

Ernest M altravers was at the height of his reputa-
tion: the work which he had deemed the crisis that
was to make or mar him was the most brilliantly suc-
cessful of all he had yet committed to the public. "Cer-
tainly, chance did as much for it as merit, as is usually
the case with works that become instantaneously pop-
ular. We may hammer away at the casket with strong
arm and good purpose, and all in vain, when some
morning a careless stroke hits the right nail on the
head, and we secure the treasure.

It was at this time, when in the prime of youth— rich,
courted, respected, run after — that Ernest Maltravers
fell seriously ill. It was no active or visible disease,
but a general irritability of the nerves, and a languid
sinking of the whole frame. His labours began, per-
haps, to tell against him. In earlier life he had been
active as a himter of the chamois, and the hardy exer-
cise of liis fr^me counteracted the effects of a restless
and ardent mind. The change from an athletic to a
sedentary habit of life— the wear and tear of the brain

48 THE HBART A HERMIT.

— the absorbing passion for knowledge which day and
night kept all his faculties in a stretch, made strange
havoc in a constitution naturally strong. The poor
author ! how few persons understand, and forbear with,
and pity him ! He sells his health and youth to a rug-
ged taskmaster. And, oh bUnd and selfish world, you
expect him to be as free of manner, and as pleasant of
cheer, and as equal of mood, as if he were passing the
most agreeable and healthful existence that pleasure
could afford to smooth the wrinkles of the mind, or
medicine invent to regulate the nerves of the body!
But there was, besides all this, another cause that op-
erated against the successful man ! His heart was too
solitary. He lived without the sweet household ties—
the connexions and amities he formed excited for a
moment, but possessed no charm to comfort or to
sooth. Cleveland resided so much in the country,
and was of so much calmer a temperament, and so
much more advanced in age, that, with all the friend-
ship that subsisted between them, there was none of
that daily and familiar interchange of confidence which
affectionate natures demand, as the very food of life.
Of his brother (as the reader will conjecture from never
having been formally presented to him) Ernest saw but
little. Colonel Maltravers, one of the gayest and hand-
somest men of his time, married to a fine lady, lived
principally at Paris, except when, for a few weeks in
the ;3hooting season, he filled his country house with
companions who had nothing in common with Ernest :
the brothers corresponded regularly every quarter, and
saw each other once a year — this was all their inter-
course. Ernest Maltravers stood in the world alone,
with that cold but anxious spectre — Reputation.

It was late at night. Before a table covered with the
monuments of erudition and thought sat a young man,
with a pale and worn countenance. The clock in the
room told with a fretting distinctness every moment
that lessened the journey to the grave. There was an
anxious and expectant expression on the face of the
student, and from time to time he glanced to the clock
and muttered to himself. Was it a letter from some
adored mistress, the soothing flattery from some mighty
arbiter of arts and letters, that the young man eagerly
awaited ? No ; the aspirer was forgotten in the valetu-
dioariaa. Ernest Maltrav^rt was waiting the visit of

A SICK 8TUDEKT AND HIS PHT8ICIAK. 49

his physician, whom at that late hour a sudden thought
had induced him to summon from his rest. At length
the well-known knock was heard, and in a few moments
the physician entered. He was one well versed in the
peculiar pathology of bookmen, and kindly as well as
skilful.

" My dear Mr. Maltravers, what is this? How are
we 1 Not seriously ill, I hope — ^no relapse — ^pulse low
and irregular, I see, but no fever. You are nervous.''

" Doctor," said the student, " I did not send for you
at this time of night from the idle fear or fretful caprice
of an invalid ; but when I saw you this morning, you
dropped some hints which have haunted me ever since.
Much that it befits the conscience and the soul to attend
to without loss of time, depends upon my full knowledge
of my real state. If I understand you rightly, I may
have but a short time to live — ^is it so 1"

'* Indeed," said the doctor, turning away his face,
" you have exaggerated my meaning. I aid not say
that you were in what we technically call danger."
" Am I, then, likely to be a langAived nym 1"
The doctor coughed. " That is uncertain, my dear
young friend," said he, after a pause.

" Be plain with me. The plans of life must be based
upon such calculations as we can reasonably form of
its probable duration. Do not fancy that 1 am weak
enough or coward enough to shrink from any abyss
which I have approached unconsciously ; I desire, I ab-
jure, nay, I command you to be explicit."

There was an earnest and solemn dignity in his pa-
tient's voice and manner which deeply touched and
impressed the good physician.

"I will answer you frankly," said he; "you over-
work the nerves and the brain ; if you do not relax, you
will subject yourself to confirmed disease and prema-
ture death. For several months — perhaps for years to
come — you should wholly cease from literary labour.
Is this a hard sentence? You are rich and young —
enjoy yourself while you can."

Maltravers appeared satisfied— changed the conversa-
tion — talked easily on other matters for a few minutes :
nor was it till he had dismissed his physician that he
broke forth with the thoughts that were burning in him.
" Oh!" cried he aloud, as he rose and paced the
room with rapid strides ; " now, when I see before me
Vol. n.— E

50 THOUOHTS ON EMULATION A^D FAMB.

the broad and laminous path, am I to be condemned to
halt and turn aside ? A vast empire rises on my view,
greater than that of Caesars and conquerors — an empire
durable and universal in the souls of men, that time it-
self cannot overthrow ; and death marches with me,
side by side, and the skeleton hand waves me back to
the nothingness of common men."

He paused at the casement — ^he threw it open, and
leaned forth and gasped for air. Heaven was serene
and still, as morning came coldly forth among the wa-
ning stars ; and the haunts of men, in their thoroughfare
of idleness and of pleasure, were desolate and void.
Nothing, save nature, was awake. ^

" And if, oh stars !" murmured Maltravers, from the
depth of his excited heart ; " if I had been insensible to
your solemn beauty — ^if the heaven and the earth had
been to me but as air and clay — if I were one of a dull
and dim-eyed herd — I might live on, and drop into the
grave from the ripeness of unprofitable years. It is
because I yearn for the great objects of an immortal be-
ing that life shrinks and shrivels up like a scroU.
Away ; I will not listen to these human and material
monitors, and consider life as a thing greater than the
things that I would Uve for. My choice is made ; glory
is more persuasive than the grave."

He turned impatiently from the casement— his eyes
flashed — ^his chest heaved — he trod the chamber with a
monarch's air. All the calculations of prudence, all the
tame and methodical reasonings with which, from lime
to time, he had sought to sober down the impetuous
man into the calm machine, faded away before the
burst of awful and commanding passions that swept over
his soul. Tell a man, in the full tide of his triumphs,
that he bears death within him; and what crisis of
thought can be more startling and more terrible !

Maltravers had, as we have seen, cared little for fame
till fame had been brought within his reach ; then, with
every step he took, new Alps had arisen. Each new
conjecture brought to light a new truth, that demanded
enforcement or defence. Rivalry and competition
chafed his blood, and kept his faculties at their full
speed. He had the generous racehorse spirit of emu-
lation : ever in action, ever in progress, cheered on
by the sarcasms of foes even more than by the applause
of friends, the desire of glory had become the h£U)it of

THIS KNIFE CUTS THE SCABBARD. 51

Existence. When we have commenced a career, what
stop is thete till the grave ? Where is the definite bar-
rier of that ambition, which, Uke the eastern bird, seems
ever on the wing, and never rests upon the earth ?
Our names are not settled till our death ; the ghosts of
what we have done are made our haunting monitors —
our scourging avengers — if ever we cease to do, or fall
short of the younger past. Repose is oblivion ; to
pause is to unravel all the web that we have woven —
until the tomb closes over us, and men, just when it
is too late, strike the fair balance between ourselves *
and our rivals ; and we are measured, not by the least,
but by the greatest triumphs we have achieved. Oh,
what a crushing sense of impotence comes over us
when we feel our frame cannot support our mind —
when the hand can no longer execute what the soul,
actively as ever, conceives and desires! The quick
life tied to the dead form — ^the ideas fresh as immortal-
ity, gushing forth rich and golden, and the broken
nerves, and the aching frame, and the weary eyes !
The spirit athirst for liberty and heaven — and the dam-
ning, choking consciousness that we are walled up and
prisoned in a dungeon that must be our burial-place !
Talk not of freedom — there is no such thing as freedom
to a man whose body is the jail, whose infirmities are
the racks of his genius !

Maltravers paused at last, and threw himself on his
sofa, wearied and exhausted. Involuntarily, and as a
half-unconscious means of escaping from his conflicting
and profitless emotions, he turned to several letters
which had for hours lain unopened on his table. Every
one the seal of which he broke seemed to mock his
state — every one seemed to attest the feUcity of his
fortunes. Some bespoke the admiring sympathy of the
highest and wisest — one offered him a brilliant opening
into pubhc life — another (it was from Cleveland) was
fraught with all the proud and rapturous approbation of
a prophet whose auguries are at last fulfilled. At that
letter Maltravers sighed deeply, and paused before he
turned to the others. The last he opened was in an
unknown hand, nor was any name affixed to it. Lik0
all writers of some note, Maltravers was in the habit of
receiving anonymous letters of praise, censure, wa]|i*
ing, and exhortation — especially from young ladiei^at
boarding-schools and old ladies in the country; ^Jbut

■v;r

52 THE AN0NTM0TT8 LETTER.

there was that in the first sentences of the letter, which
he now opened with a careless hand, that riveted his
attention. It was a small and beautiful handwriting,
yet the letters were more clear and bold than they usa-
ally are in feminine calligraphy.

''Ernest Maltravers," began this singular efiusion,
" have you weighed yoursefft Are you aware of your
capacities % Do you feel that for you there may be a
more dazzling reputation than that which appears to
content you? You, who seem to penetrate into the
subtil est windings of the human heart, and to have ex-
amined nature as through a glass ; you, whose thoughts
stand forth like armies marshalled in defence of truth,
bold and dauntless, and without a stain upon their glit-
tering armour ; are you, at your age and with your ad-
vantages, to bury yourself amid books and scrolls ?
Do you forget that action is the grand career for men
who think as you do ? Will this word-weighing and
picture-writing — the cold eulogies of pedants — ^the list-
less praises of literary idlers, content all the yearnings
of your ambition 1 You were not made solely for the
closet ; ' The Dreams of Pindus and the Aonian Maids'
cannot endure through the noon of manhood. You are
too practical for the mere poet, and too poetical to sink
into the dull tenour of a learned life. I have never
seen you, yet I know you — I read your spirit in your
page ; that aspiration for something better and greater
than the great and the good, which colours all your
passionate revelations of yourself and others, cannot be
satisfied merely by ideal images. You cannot be con-
tented, as poets and historians mostly are, by becoming
great only from delineating great men, or imagining
great events, or describing a great era. Is it not wor-
thier of you to be what you fancy or relate 1 Awake,
Maltravers, awake ! Look into your own heart, and
f^el your proper destinies. And who am I that thus
address you ? A woman whose soul is filled with yon —
a woman in whom your eloquence has awakened, amid
frivolous and vain circles, the sense of a new existence
—a woman who would make you yourself the imbod-
ied ideal of your own thoughts and dreams, and who
would ask from earth no other lot than that of follow-
ing you on the road of fame with the eyes of her
heart. Mistake me not; I repeat that I have never
seen you, nor do I wish it ; you might be other than I

ClUB L0T7N6ER8. 53

imagine, and I should lose an idol and be left without
a worship. I am a kind of visionary Rosicrucian : it is
a spirit that I adore, and not a being like mysell You
imagine, perhaps, that I have some purpose to serve in
this — ^I have no object in administering to your vanity ;
and, if I judge you rightly, this letter is one that might
make you vain without a blush. Oh, the admiration
that does not spring from holy and profound sources of
emotion — how it saddens us or disgusts ! I have had
my share of vulgar homage, and it only makes me feel
doubly alone. 1 am richer than you are — I have youth
—I have what they call — ^beauty. And neither riches,
youth, nor beauty ever gave me the silent and deep
happiness I experience when 1 think of you. This is a
worship that might, I repeat, well make even you vain.
Think of these words, I implore you. Be worthy, not
of my thoughts, but of the shape in which they repre-
sent you ; and every ray of glory that surrounds you
virill brighten my own way, and inspire me with a kin-
dred emiQation. Farewell. I may write to you again,
but you will never discover me ; and in life 1 pray that
we may never meet !"

CHAPTER V.

" Our list of nobles next let Amri grace."

AbseUom and AehitopheL

" Sine me vacivum tempus ne quod dem mihi
Laboris."

Tbr.

" I can't think," said one of a group of young men,
loitering by the steps of a clubhouse in St. James's-
street — " I can't think what has chanced to Maltravers.
Do you observe (as he walks — there — the other side of
the way) how much he is altered! He stoops like an
old man, and hardly ever lifts his eyes from the ground.
He certainly seems sick and.sad !"

" Writing books, I suppose."

" Or privately married."

" Or growing too rich— rich men are always unhappy

beings."

54 DESIGNS ON THS PeIrAOE.

" Ha, Ferrers, how are you V
" So, so ! What's the news V replied Lumley.
" Rattler pays forfeit."
" Oh ! but in poUtics 1"
" Hang politics ; are you turned politician ?"
" At my age, what else is there left to do ?"
" I thought so by your hat ; all politicians sport odd-
looking hats; it is very remarkable, but that is the
great symptom of the disease."

"My hat — is it oddV said Ferrers, taking oflf the
commodity in question, and seriously regarding it.
"** Why, who ever saw such a brim 1"
** Glad you think so."
" Why, Ferrers V

" Because it is a prudent policy in this country to
surrender something trifling up to ridicule. If people
can abuse your hat, or your carriage, or the shape of
your nose, or a wart on your chin, they let slip a thou-
sand more important matters. 'Tis the wisdom of the
camel-driver, who gives up his gown for the camel to
trample on, that he may escape lumself."

" How droll you are, Ferrers ! Well, I shall turn in
and read the papers ; and you — "
" Shall pay my visits and rejoice in my hat !"
" Au revoir : by-the-by, your friend, Maltravers, has
just passed, looking thoughtful, and talking to himself!
What's the matter with him ?"

" Lamenting, perhaps, that he too does not wear an
odd hat, for gentlemen like you to laugh at, and leave
the rest of him in peace. Good-day."

On went Ferrers, and soon found himself in the mall
of the park. Here he was joined by Mr. Templeton.

" Well, Lumley," said the latter (and it may be here
remarked that Mr. Templeton now exhibited towards
his nephew a greater respect of manner and tone than
he had thought it necessary to observe before) — ** well,
Lumley, and have you seen Lord Saxingham 1"
" I have, sir ; and I regret to say — ^"
*' I thought so — 1 thought it," interrupted Templeton ;
' " no gratitude in public men — ^no wish m high places to.
honour virtue !"

" Pardon me. Lord Saxingham declares that he should
be delighted to forward your views ; that no man more
deserves a peerage ; but that — "
" Oh yes ; always ' buts P "

PUBLIC TIRTUE. 55

** But that there are so many claimants at present
whom it is impossible to satisfy; and — and — ^but I feel
I ought not to go on." ^

" Proceed, sir, I beg."

" Why, then, Lord Saxingham is (I must be frank) a
man who has a great regard for his own family. Your
marriage (a source, my dear uncle, of the greatest grat-
ification to me) cuts ofif the probable chance of your
fortune and title, if you acquire the latter, descending
to—"

" Yourself !" put in Templeton, dryly. ** Your rela-
tion seems, for the first time, to have discovered how
dear your interests are to him."

" For me individually, sir, my relation does not care
a rush; but he cares a great deal for any member of his
house being rich and in high station. It increases the
range and credit of his connexions ; and Lord Saxing-
ham is a man whom connexions help to keep great. To
be plain with you, he will not stir in this business, be-
cause he does not see how his kinsman is to be benefit-
ed or his house strengthened."

" Public virtue !" exclaimed Templeton.

** Virtue, my dear uncle, is a female ; as long as she
is private property she is excellent ; but Public Virtue,
like any other public lady, is a common prostitute."

"Pshaw!" grunted Templeton, who was too much
out of humour to read his nephew the lecture he might
otherwise have done upon the impropriety of his simile ;
for Mr. Templeton was one of those men who hold it
vicious to talk of vice as existing in the world ; he was
very much shocked to hear anything called by its proper
name.

" Has not Mrs. Templeton some connexions that may
be useful to you ?"

" No, sir," cried the uncle, in a voice of thunder.

" Sorry to hear it — ^but we cannot expect all things :
you have married for love — ^you have a happy home,
a charming wife— this is better than a title and a fine
lady."

" Mr. Lumley Ferrers, you may spare me your con-
solations. My wife — "

" Loves you dearly, I dare sayT' said the imperturba-
ble nephew. " She has so much sentiment-— is so fond
of poetry. Oh, yes, she must love one who^as done so
'^uch for her."

M THS VOLTO SCXOLTO.

^ Dond so much — what do you mean I"

" Why, with your fortune — ^your station — ^your jast
ambitidti — you, who might have married any one ; nay,
by remaining unmarried, have conciliated all my inter-
ested, selfish relations, hang them ! you have married a
lady without connexions^and what more could you do
for her?"

" Pooh, pooh, you don't know all,"

Here Templeton stopped short, as if about to say too
much, and frowned ; then, after a pause, he resumed —
*' Lumley, I have married, it is true. You may not be
my heir, but I will make it up to you — that is, if you
deserve my affection."

" My dear unc— "

" Don't interrupt me, I have projects for you. Let
our interests be the same. The title may yet descend
to you. I may have no male offspring — meanwhile,
draw on me to any reasonable amount — ^young men
have expenses — but be prudent, and if you want to get
on in the world, never let the world detect you in a
scrape. There, leave me now."

" My best, my heartfelt thanks."

** Hush — sound Lord Saxingham again ; I must and
will have this bawble — I have set my heart on it." So
saying, Templeton waved away his nephew, and mu-
singly pursued his path towards Hyde Park Corner,
where his carriage awaited him. As soon as he entered
his demesnes, he saw his wife's daughter running across
the lawn to greet him. His heart softened ; he checked
the carriage and descended ; he caressed her, he played
with her, he laughed as she laughed. No parent could
J)e more fond.

^* Lumley Ferrers has talent to do me honour," said
he, anxiously ; " but his principles seem imstable. How-
ever, surely that open manner is the sign of a ffood
heart !"

Meanwhile, Ferrers, in high spirits, took his way to
Ernest's house. His friend was not at home^ but Fer-
rers never wanted a host's presence to be at home him-
self. Books were round him in abundance, but Ferrers
was not one of those who read for amusement. He
threw himself into an easy 'chair, and began weaving
new meshes of ambition and intrigue. At length the
door opened, and Maltravers en(;ered.

" Why, iJrnest, how ill you are looking !"

NEW READING OF HYP0CRI8T. 57

•* I have not been well, but I am now recovering. As
physicians recommend change of air to ordinary patients,
80 I am about to try change of habit. Active I must
be — ^action is the condition of my being ; but I must have
done with books for the present. You see me in a new
character."

" How V

" That of a public man — ^I have entered parliament."

^'You astonish me! I have read the papers this
morning. I see not even a vacancy, much less an elec-
tion."

" It is all managed by the lawyer and the banker. In
other words, my seat is a close borough."

" No bore of constituents. I congratulate you, and
envy. I wish I were in parliament myself."

" You ! I never fancied you bitten by the political
mania."

" Political — ^no ! But it is the most respectable way,
with luck, of living on the public. Better than swind-
ling."

'^ A candid way of viewing the question. But I
thought at one time you were half a Benthamite, and
that your motto was, *The greatest happiness of the
greatest number.' "

*' The greatest number to me is number one. I agree
with the P3rthagoreans — unity is the perfect principle
of creation! Seriously, how can you mistake the
principles of 0|Mnion for the principles of conduct ? I
am a Benthamite, a benevolist, as a logician ; but, the
moment I leave the closet for the world, I lay aside
speculatioQ for others, and act for myself."

*' You are at least more frank than prudent in these
confessions."

" There you are wrong. It is by affecting to be worse
than we are that we become popular — and we get
credit for being both honest and practical fellows. My
uncle's mistake is to be a hypocrite in words : it rarely
answers. Be frank in words, and nobody will suspect
hypocrisy in your designs."

Maltravers gazed hard at ^errers ; something revolted
and displeased his high-wrought platonism in the easy
wisdom of his old friend. But he felt, almost for the
first time, that Ferrers was a man to get on in the world,
and he sighed — I hope it was for the world's sake !

After a short conversation on indifferent matters.

58 RONBSTY ALWAYS BFFlCISNT^

Cleveland was annomiced; and Ferrers, who cotdd
make nothing out of Cleveland, soon withdrew. Ferrers
was now becoming an economist in his time.

**My dear Maltravers," said Cleveland when they
were alone, '' I ' am so glad to see you ; for, in the first
place, I rejoice to find you are extending your career
of usefulness."

" Usefulness — ah, let me think so \ Life is so uncer-
tain and so short, that we cannot too soon bring the
httle it can yield into the great commonwealth of the
beautiful or the honest ; and both belong to and make
up the useful. But in politics, and in a highly artificial
state, what doubts beset us ! what darkness surrounds \
If we connive at abuses, we juggle with our own reason
and integrity ; if we attack them, how much, how fa-
tally we may derange that solemn and conventional or-
der which is the mainspring of the vast machine \ How
little, too, can one man, whose talents may not be in that
coarse road — ^in that mephitic atmosphere, be enabled
to effect !"

** He may effect a vast deal even without eloquence
or labour ; he may effect a vast deal if he can set one
example, amid a crowd of selfish aspirants and heated
fanatics, of an honest and dispassionate man. He may
effect more if he may serve among the representatives
of that hitherto unrepresented thing — Literature ; if he
redeem, by an ambition above place and emolument,
the character for subservience that court-poets have
obtained for letters ; if he may prove that speculative
knowledge is not disjoined from the practical world,
and maintain the dignity of disinterestedness that
should belong to learning. But the end of a scientific
morality is not to serve others only, but also to perfect
.and accomplish our individual selves; our own souls
are a solemn trust to our own lives. You are about to
add to your experience of human motives and active
men; and whatever additional wisdom you acquire
will become equally evident and equally useful, no
matter whether it be communicated through action or
in books. Enough of this, my dear Ernest. I have
come to dine with you, and make you accompany me
to-night to a house where you will be welcome, and I
think interested. Nay, no excuses. I have i^romised
Lord Latimer that he shall make your acquaintance,
and he is one of the most eminent men with whom po*
)itical life will connect you "

LORD LATIMER^ff PARTT. 69

And to this change of habits, from the closet to the
senate, had Maltravers been induced by a state of health
which, with most men, would have been an excuse for
indolence : indolent he could not be. He had truly said
to Ferrers, that " action was the condition of his being."
If THOUGHT, with its fevor and aching tension, had been
too severe a taskmaster on the nerves and brain, the
coarse and homely pursuit of practical politics would
leave the imagination and intellect to repose, while it
would excite the hardier quaUties and gifts, which an>
imate without exhausting. So at least hoped Mal-
travers. He remembered the profound saying in one
of his favourite German authors,^ "that, to keep the
mind and body in perfect health, it is necessary to mix
habitually and betimes in the common affairs of men/'
And the anonymous correspondent ? Had her exhorta-
tions any influence on his decision ? I know not. But
when Cleveland left him, Maltravers unlocked his desk,
and reperused the last letter he had received from the
Unknown. The last letter—yes, those epistles had now
become frequent.

CHAPTER VL

** Le brilliant de votre esprit donne xm si grand iclat a votre teint
et h, vos yeux, que quoiquil sexnble que Pesprit ne doit toucher que
les oreilles, il eet pourtant certain que la votre 6blouit les yeux.^—
Lettres de Madame db Sevione.

At Lord Latimer's house were assembled some hun-
dreds of those persons who are rarely found together
in London society ; for business, pohtics, and literature
draught off" the most eminent men, and usually leave to
houses that receive the world little better than indolent
rank or ostentatious wealth. Even the young men of
pleasure turn up their noses at parties nowadays, alld
find society a bore. But there are some dozen or two of
houses, the owners of which are both apart from Mid
above the fashion, in which a foreigner may see, col-
lected under the same roof, many of the most remarka-
ble men of busy, thoughtful, majestic England. Lord
Latimer himself had been a cabinet minister. He ro^

60 BRNE8T INTRODUCXS TO THB HEIRESS.

tired from public life on pretence of ill heahh ; bat, in
reality, because its anxious bustle was not congenial to
a gentle and accomplished, but somewhat feeble mind.
With a high reputation and an excellent cook, he en-
joyed a great popularity both with his own party and
the world in general ; and he was the centre of a small
but distinguished circle of acquaintances, who drank
Latimer's wine, and quoted Latimer's sayings, and liked
Latimer much better, because, not being author or min-
ister, he was not in their way.

Lord Latimer received M altravers with marked cour-
tesy, and even deference, and invited him to join his
own whist-table, which was one of the highest compli-
ments his lordship could pay to his intellect. But when
his guest refused the proffered honour, the earl turned
him over to the countess, as having become the prop-
erty of the womankind, and was soon immersed in his
aspirations for the odd trick.

While Maltravers was conversing with Lady Latimer,
he happened to raise his eyes, and saw opposite to him
a young lady of such remarkable beauty, that he could
scarcely refrain from an admiring exclamation. " And
who," he asked, recovering himself, " is that lady ? It
is strange that even I, who go so little into the world,
should be compelled to inquire the name of one whose
beauty must already have made her celebrated."

" Oh, Lady Florence Lascelles — she came out last
year. She is indeed most brilliant, yet more so in mind
and accomplishments than face. I must be allowed to
introduce you."

At this offer a strange shyness, and, as it were, re-
luctant distrust, seized Maltravers — a kind of presenti-
ment of danger and evil. He drew back, and would have
made some excuse, but Lady Latimer did not heed his
embarrassment, and was already by the side of Lady
Flor^ce Lascelles. A moment more, and beckoning
to Maltravers, the countess presented him to the lady.
As he bowed and seated himself beside his new ac-
quaintance, he could not but observe that her cheeks
were suffused with the most lively blushes, and that
she received him with a confusion not common, even
in ladies just brought out and just introduced to " a lion."
He was rather puzzled than flattered by these tokens
of an embarrassment somewhat akin to his own ; and
the first few sentences of their conversation passed off

F|.ORENCfi's IMPAB88ION8 OP BRNBST. 61

ifeith a certain awkivardness and reserve. At this mo-
ment, to the surprise, perhaps to the relief of Ernest,
they were joined by Lumley Ferrers.

" Ah, Lady Florence, I kiss your hands — ^I am charmed
to find you acquainted with my friend Maltravers."

" And Mr. Ferrers, what makes him so late to-night t"
asked the fair Florence, with a sudden ease which
rather startled Maltravers.

" A dull dinner, voild tout ! — I have no other excuse."
And Ferrers, sliding into a vacant chair on the other
side of Lady Florence, conversed volubly and unceas-
ingly, as if seeking to monopolize her attention.

Ernest had not been so much captivated with the
manner of Florence as he had been struck with her
beauty ; and now, seeing her apparently engaged with
another, he rose and quietly moved away. He was
soon one of a knot of men who were conversing on the
absorbing topics of the day ; and as, by degrees, the ex-
citing subject brought out his natural eloquence and
masculine sense, the talkers became listeners, the knot
widened into a circle, and he himself was unconsciously
the object of general attention and respect.

"And what think you of Mr. Maltravers V asked
Ferrers, carelessly; "does he keep up your expecta-
tions 1"

Lady Florence had sunk into a revery, and Ferrers
repeated his question.

" He is younger than I thought him, and — and — ^

" Handsomer, I suppose you mean."

" No ! calmer and less animated."

" He seems animated enough now," said Ferrers ;
" but your ladylike conversation failed in striking the
Promethean spark. 'Lay that flattering unction to
your soul.' "

"Ah, you are right; he must have thought me
very—"

" Beautiful, no doubt."

" Beautiful ! I hate the word, Lumley. I wish I were
not handsome — ^I might then get some credit for my in-
tellect."

" Humph ! " said Ferrers, significantly.

"Oh, you don't think so, skeptic," said Florence,
shaking her head with a slight laugh and an altered
manner.

" Does it matter what / think ?" said Ferrers, with an
Vol. IL— F

62 LUMLET INTRUSTED WITH A MISSIOIC.

attempted touch at the sentimental, '* when Lord This
and Lord That, and Mr. So-and-so, and Count What-
d*ye-cal}-him, are all making their way to you, to dis-
possess me of my envied monopoly."

While Ferrers spoke several of the scattered loun-
gers grouped around Florence, and the conversation, of
which she was the cynosure, became animated and gay.
Oh, how brilliant she was, that peerless Florence ! With
what petulant and sparkling grace came wit and wisdom,
and even genius, from those ruby lips ! Even the as-
sured Ferrers felt his subtle intellect as dull and coarse
to hers, and shrank with a reluctant apprehension from
the arrows of her careless and prodigal repartees. For
there was a scorn in the nature of Florence Lascelles
which made her wit pain more frequently than it pleased.
Educated even to learning, courageous even to a want
of feminacy, she delighted to sport with ignorance and
pretension, even in the highest places ; and the laugh
that she excited was like lightning — ^no one could divine
where next it might fall.

But Florence, though dreaded and unloved, was yet
courted, flattered, and the rage. For this there were
two reasons ; first, she was a coquette, and, secondly,
she was an heiress.

Thus the talkers in the room were divided into two
principal groups, over one of which Maltravers may
be said to have presided, over the other Florence. As
the former broke up Ernest was joined by Cleveland.

" My dear cousin," said Florence, suddenly and in a
whisper, as she turned to Lumley, "your friend is
speaking of me — I see it. Go, I implore you, and let me
know what he says !"

"The commission is not flattering," said Ferrers,
almost sullenly.

" Nay, a commission to gratify a woman's curiosity
is ever one of the most flattering embassies with which
■\ye.can invest ah able negotiator."

" Well, I must do your bidding, though I disown the
favour." Ferrers moved away and joined Cleveland
and Maltravers.

" She is indeed beautiful — so perfect a contour 1
never beheld ; she is the only woman I ever saw in whom
the aquiline features seem more classicsd than even
the Greek."

THB ambassador's Dlt^LOMACY. 63

" So, that is your opinion of my fair cousin," cried
Ferrers ; " you are caught."

" I wish he were," said Cleveland. " Ernest is now
old enough to settle, and there is not a more dazzling
prize in England — rich, highborn, lovely, and accom-
plished."

"And what say you?" asked Lumley, almost im-
patiently, to Maltravers.

" That I never saw one whom I admire more or could
love less," replied Ernest, as he left the rooms.

Ferrers looked after him, and muttered to himself;
he then rejoined Florence, who presently rose to depart,
and, taking Lumley's arm, said, " Well, I see my father
is looking round for me, and so for once I will forestall
him. Come, Lumle}^ let us join him ; I know he wants
to see you."

" Well ?" said Florence, blushing deeply, and almost
breathless, as they crossed the now half-empty apart-
ments.

" Well, my cousin V

" You provoke me ; well, then, what said your friend 1"

" That you deserved your reputation of bea^y, but
that you were not in his style. Maltravers is in love,
you know."

" In love I" .

"Yes, a pretty Frenchwoman! quite romantic; an
attachment of some years' standing."

Florence turned away her face and said no more.

" That's a good fellow, Lumley," said Lord Saxing-
ham ; " Florence is never more welcome to my eyes
than at half past one o'clock A. M., when I associate
her with thoughts of my natural rest and my unfortu-
nate carriage-horses. By-the-by, I wish you would dine
with me next Saturday."

" Saturday : unfortunately, I am engaged to my un-
cle."

" Oh ! he has behaved handsomely to you."

" Yes."

" Mrs. Templeton pretty well 1"

" I fancy so."

" As ladies wish to be, &c. 1" whispered his loifdship

" No, thank Heaven !"

" Well, if the old man could but make you his heir,
yiQ might think twice about the title."

64 A statesman's idea of letters.

** My dear lord, stop ! one favour— write me a line to
hint that delicately.'*

" No ! no letters ; letters always get into the papers."

'* But cautiously worded — ^no danger of publication,
on my honour."

" 111 think of it— good-night."

■HD OF BOOK VI.

BOOK VII.

X^ &i ipttrrov ith alrov retpavdai YivtnBait fiij ii&vov il avrht vofti^v
ipunov i{ivao6ai Y»via$at, &c. — Plotinus — En. II, lib. ix., c. iz.

** Every man should strive to be as ^ood as possible, but not sup-
pose himself to be the only thing that is good."

BOOK VIL

CHAPTER I

** Deceit is the strong bat sabtile chain which nms throiigfa all the
members of a society, and links them together; trick or be tricked is
the alternative : tis the way of the world, and without it mteicouse
would drop."— ilmN^mow Writer of 1722.

" A lovely child she was, of looks serme,
And motions which o*er things indifferent shed
The grace and gentleness from whence they came."

Pbbcy Btsshb Shbllbt.

*' His years bat young, but his experi^ice old."

Shakspbakk.

** He after honour hunts, I after love."

Rid.

LvMLSY Ferrbbs was one of the few men in the woild
who act upon a profonnd, deliberate, and organized sys-
tem — he 1^ done so even from a boy. When he was
twenty-one he had said to himself, '* Youth is the sea-
son for enjoyment: the triumphs of manhood, the
wealth of age, do not compensate for a youth wasted
in unpleasuiable toils.'' A^greeably to this maxim, he
had resolved not to adopt any profession; and being
fond of travel, and of a restless temper, he luid indulg^
iU>road in all the gratifications that his moderate income
could afford him : that income went farther on the Con-
tinent than at home, which was another reason for the
prolongation of his travels. Now, when the whims and
passions of youth were sated, and, ripened by a con-
summate and various knowledge of mankind, his harder
capacities of mind became developed and centred into
such ambition as it was his nature to conceive, he acted
no less upon a regular and methodical plan of conduct^
which he carried into details. He had little or nothing
within himself to cross his cold theories by contradic-
tory practice ; for he was curbed by no prmciples, and

68 FERRERS'S ESTABLISHMENT.

impelled but by few tastes ; and our tastes are ofiea
checks as powerful as our principles. Looking round
the English world, Ferrers saw that, at his age, and
with an equivocal position and no chances to throw
away, it was necessary that he should cast off all attri-
butes of the character of the wanderer and the jargon.

" There is nothing respectable in lodgings and a cab,'*
said Ferrers to himself (that " self" was his grand cbn-
fidant !) — ^** nothing stationary. Such are the apphances
of a here-to-day-gone-to-morrow kind of life. One
never looks substantial till one pays rates and taxes,
and has a bill with one's butcher !"

Accordingly, without saying a word to anybody, Fer-
rers took a long lease of a large house in one of those
quiet streets, that proclaim the owners do not wish to
be made by fashionable situations ; streets in which, if
you have a large house, it is supposed to be because
you can afford one. He was very particular in its being
a respectable street — Great George-street, Westmin-
ster, was the one he selected.

No frippery or bawbles common to the mansions of
young bachelors — no buhl, and marquetrie, and Sevre
china, and cabinet pictures, distinguished the large dingy
drawing-rooms of Lumlev Ferrers. He bought all the
old furniture a bargain of'^the late tenant — tea-coloured
chints curtains, and chairs and sofas that were venera-
ble and solemn with the accumulated dust of twenty-
five years. The only things about which he was par-
ticular were a very long dining-table that would hold
forty, and a new mahogany sideboard. Somebody
asked him why he cared about such articles. '* I don't
know," he said, " but I observe all respectable family
men do — there must be something in it — ^I shall discover
the secret by-and-by."

In this house did Mr. Ferrers ensconce himself, with
two middle-aged maid^-servants and a man out of livery,
whom he chose from a multitude of candidates because
the man looked especially well-fed.

Having thus settled himself, and told every one that
the lease of his house was for sixty-three years, Lum-
ley Ferrers made a little calculation of his probable ex-
penditure, which he found, with good management, might
amount to about one fourth more than his income.

" I shall take the surplus out of my capital," said he,
'^ and try the experiment for five years ; if it don't do,

A stepfather's fondness. 69

and pay me profitably, why then either men are not to
be lived upon, or Lumley Ferrers is a muph duller dog
than he thinks himself!"

Mr. Ferrers had deeply studied the character of his
uncle, as a prudent speculator studies the qualities of a
mine in which he means to invest his capital, and much
of his present proceedings was intended to act upon the
uncle as well as upon the world. He saw that the more
he could obtain for himself, not a noisy, social, fashion-
able reputation, but a good, sober, substantial one, the
more highly Mr. Templeton would consider him, and
the more likely he was to be made his uncle's heir —
that is, provided Mrs. Templeton did not supersede the
nepotal parasite by indigenous olive branches. This
last apprehension died away as time passed, and no
signs of fertility appeared ; and accordingly, Ferrers
thought he might prudently hazard more upon the game
on which he now ventured to rely. There was one
thing, however, that greatly disturbed his peace : Mr.
Templeton, though harsh and austere in his manner to
his wife, was evidently attached to' her; and, above all,
he cherished the fondest affection for his'daughter'Mi^
i^MT He was anxious for her health, her education,
her little childish enjoyments, as if he had been not only
her parent, but a very doting one. He could not bear
her to be crossed or thwarted. Mr. Templeton, who
had never spoiled anything before, not even an old pen
(so careful, and calcidating, and methodical was he), did
his best to spoil this beautiful child, whom he could not
even have the vain luxury of thinking he had produced
to the adgiiring world. Softly, exquisitely lovely was
that little girl; and every day she increased m the
charm of her person, and the caressing fascination of
her childish ways. Her temper was so sweet and do-
cile, that fondness and petting, however injudiciously
exhibited, only seemed yet more to bring out the col-
ours of a grateful and tender nature. Perhaps the meas-
ured kindness of more reserved affection might have
been the true way of spoiling one whose instincts were
all for exacting and returning love. She was a plant
that suns less warm might have nipped and chilled;
but, beneath an uncapricious and unclouded sunshine,
she sprang up in a luxurious bloom of heart and sweet-
ness of disposition.

Every one, even those who did not generally like

70 lumley's policy.

children, delighted in this charming creature, excepting
only Mr. Lumley Ferrers. But that gentleman, less
mild than Pope's Narcissa,

" To make a wash, bad gladly stew'd the child !*'

He had seen how very common it is for a rich man,
married late in life, to leave everything to a young
widow and her children by a former marriage, when
once attached to the latter ; and he sensibly felt that he
himself had but a slight hold over Templeton by the
chain of the affections. He resolved, therefore, as
much as possible, to alienate his uncle from his young
wife — trusting that, as the influence of the wife was
weakened, that of the child would be lessened also;
and to raise in Templeton's vanity and ambition an ally
that might supply to himself the want of love. He
pursued this twofold scheme with masterly art and ad-
dress. He first sought to secure the confidence and
regard of the melancholy and gentle mother ; and in
this, for she was peculiarly unsuspicious and inexperi-
enced, he obtained signal and complete success. His
frankness of manner, his deferential attention, the art
with which he warded off from her the spleen or ill-
humour of Mr. Templeton, the cheerfulness that his
easy gayety threw over a very gloomy house, made the
poor lady hail his visits and trust in his friendship.
Perhaps she was glad of any interruption to t^te-a-t^tes
with a severe and ungenial husband, who had no sym-
pathy for the sorrows, of whatever nature they might
be, which preyed upon her, and who made it a point of
morality to find fault wherever he could. ^

The next step in Lumley's policy was to arm Tem-
pleton's vanity against his wife, by constantly refresh-
ing his consciousness of the sacrifices he had made by
marriage, and the certainty that he would have attained
all his wishes had he chosen more prudently. By per-
petually, but most judiciously, rubbing this sore point,
he, as it were, fixed the irritabihty into Temple ton's
constitution, and it reacted on all his thoughts, aspiring
or domestic. Still, however, to Lumley's great surprise
and resentment, while Templeton cooled to his wife,
he only warmed to her child. Lumley had not calcu-
lated enough upon the thirst and craving for affection
in most human hearts ; and Templeton, though not
exactly an amiable man, had some excellent quaUti^ r

THE PHILOSOPHY OP DINNERS. 71

if he had less sensitively regarded the opinion of the
'world, he would neither have contracted the vocabulary
of cant nor sickened for a peerage ; both his affectation
of aaintship and his gnawing desire of rank arose from
an extraordinary and morbid deference to opinion, and
a wish for worldly honours and respect, which he felt
that his mere talents could not secure to him. But he
w^as, at bottom, a kindly man — charitable to the poor,
considerate to his servants, and had within him the
'want to love and be loved, which is one of the desires
wherewith the atoms of the universfe are cemented and
harmonized. Had Mrs. Templeton evinced love to Aim,
he might have defied all Lumley^s diplomacy, been oon-
soled for worldly disadvantages, and been a good and
even uxorious husband. But she evidently did not love
him, though an admirable, patient, provident wife ; and
her daughter did love him — love him as well even as
she loved her mother ; and the hard worldling would
not have accepted a kingdom as the price of that little
fountain of pure and ever-refreshing tenderness. Wise
and penetrating as Lumley was, he never could thor-
oughly understand this weakness, as he called it ; for
we never know men entirely, unless we have complete
sympathies with men in all their natural emotions ; and
Nature had left the workmanship of Lumley Ferrers
unfinished and incomplete, by denying him the possibil-
ity of caring for anything but himself.

His plan for winning Templeton's esteem and defer-
ence was, howeVer, comf)letely triumphant. He took
care that nothing in his mendge should appear " extrava-
gant ;^^ all was sober, quiet, and well-regulated. He
declared that he had so managed as to live within his
income ; and Templeton, receiving no hint for money,
nor aware that Ferrers had on the Continent consumed
a considerable portion of his means, believed him.
Ferrers gave a great many dinners, but he did not go
on that foolish plan ^hich has been laid down by per-
sons who pretend to know life, as a means of popularity
— ^he did not profess to give dinners better tnan other
people. He knew that, unless you are a very rich or a
very great man, no folly is equal to that of thinking
that you soften the hearts of your friends by soups a
la bisque J and Vermuth wine at a guinea a bottle ! They
I *all go away, saying, " What right has that dr—d fellow

72 srnxst's carsxr.

to give a better dinner than we do ? What horrid taste
— ^what ridiculous presumption !"

No ; though Ferrers himself was a most scientific
epicure, and held the luxury of the palate at the highest
possible price, he dieted his friends on what he termed
^^respectable fare." His cook put plenty of flour into
the oyster sauce ; cods^-head and shoulders made his
mvariable fish ; and four entres, without flavom* or pre-
tence, were duly supplied by the pastrycook, and care-
fully eschewed by the host. Neither did Mr. Ferrers
alSect to bring about him gay wits and brilUant talkers.
He confined himself to men of substantial consideration,
an4 generally took care to be himself the cleverest per-
son present ; while he turned the conversation on seri-
ous matters crammed for the occasion — ^pohtics, stocks,
commerce, and the criminal code. Pruning his gayety,
though he retained his frankness, he sought to be known
as a highly-inarmed, painstaking man, who would be
sure to rise. His connexions, and a certain nameless
charin about htm, consisting chiefly in a pleasant coun-
tenance, a bold yet winning candour, and the absence
of aU hauteur* or pretence, enabled him to assemble |
round this plain table, which, if it gratified no taste,
wounded no self-love, a sufficient number of public men
of rank and eminent men of business to answer his
purpose. The situation he had chosen, so near the
Houses of Parliament, was convenient to pohticians,
and, by degrees, the large dingy drawing-rooms became
a frequent resort for public men to talk over those
thousand underplots by which a party is served or at-
tacked. Thus, though not in parhament himself, Fer-
rers became insensibly associated with parliamentaiT
men and things ; and the ministerial party, whose poh-
tics he espoused, praised him highly, made use of him,
and meant, some day or other, to do something for him.

While the career of this able and unprincipled roan
thus opened — and, of course, the opening was not made
in a day — Ernest Maltravers was ascending, by a
rough, thorny, and encumbered path, to that eminence
on which the monuments of men are buih. His suocess
in public life was not* brilliant or sudden ; for, though
he had eloquence and knowledge, he disdained all ora-
torical devices ; and though he had passion and energy,
he could scarcely be called a warm partisan. He met f
with much envy and many obstacles.; and the gracifl|^ I

THE PT7BLIC AND THE PEOPLE. 73

and buoyant sociality of temper and manners, that had,
in early youth, made him the idol of his contemporaries
at school or college, had long since faded away into a
cold, settled, and lofty, though gentle reserve, which
did not attract towards him the animal spirits of the
herd. But though he spoke seldom, and heard many,
with half his powers, more enthusiastically cheered, he
did not fail or commanding attention and respect ; and
though no darling of cliques and parties, yet in that
great body of the people who were ever the audience
and tribunal to which, in letters or in politics, M altravers
appealed, there was silently growing up and spreading
wide a belief in his upright intentions, his unpurchase-
able honour, and his correct and well-considered views.
He felt that his name was safely invested, though the
return for the capital was slow and moderate. He was
contented to abide his time.

Every day he grew more attached to that only true
philosophy which makes a man, as far as the world will
permit, a world to himself; and from the height of a
tranquil and serene self-esteem, he felt the sun shine
above him when malignant clouds spread sullen and
ungenial below. He did not despise or wilfully shock
opinion, neither did he fawn upon and flatter it. Where
he thought the world should be humoured, he humoured
— where contemned, he contemned it. There ara many
cases in which an honest, well-educated, high-hearted
individual is a much better judge than the multitude of
what is right and what is wrong ; and in these matters
he is not worth three straws if he lets the multitude
bully or coax him out of his judgment. The public,
if you indulge it, is a most damnable gossip, thrusting
its nose into people^s concerns where it has no right
to make or meddle ; and in those things where the pub-
lic is impertinent, Maltravers scorni^d and resisted its
interference as haughtily as he would the interference
of any insolent member of the insolent whole. It was
this mixture of deep love and profound respect for the
eternal people, and of calm, passionless disaain for that
capricious charlatan, the momentary public, which
made Ernest Maltravers an original and solitary think-
er ; and an actor, in reality modest and benevolent, in
appearance arrogant and unsocial. ** Pauperism, in
contradistinction to poverty," he was wont to say, " is
the dependance upon other people for existence, not on

Vol. n.— G

74 CiBSARINI.

OUT own exertions ; there is a moral pauperism in the
man who is dependant on others for that support of
moral life — self-respect."

Wrapped in this philosophy, he pursued his haughty
and lonesome way, and felt that m the deep heart of
mankind, when prejudices and envies should die off,
there would be a sympathy with his motives and his
career. So far as his own health was concerned, the
experiment had answered. No mere drudgery of busi-
ness — ^late hours and dull speeches — can produce the
dread exhaustion which follows the efforts of the soul to
mount into the higher air of severe thought or intense
imagination. Those faculties which h^ been over-
strained now lay fallow, and the frame rapidly regained
its tone. Of private comfort and inspiration Ernest knew
but little. He gradually grew estranged from his old
friend Ferrers as their habits became opposed. Cleve-
land lived more and more in the country, and was too
well satisfied with his quondam pupiPs course of life and
progressive reputation to trouble him with exhortation
or advice. Caesarini had grown a literary lion, whose
genius was vehemently lauded by all the reviews — on
the same principle as that which induces us to praise
foreign singers or dead men; we must praise some-
thing, and we donU like to praise those who jostle our-
selves. Caesarini had therefore grown prodigiously
conceited ; swore th^t England was the only country
for true merit, and no longer concealed his jealous
anger at the wider celebrity of Maltravers. Ernest saw
him squandering away his substance and prostituting
his talents to drawing-room trifles with a compassion-
ate sigh. He sought to warn him, but Caesarini lis-
tened to him with such impatience that he resigned the
office of monitor. He wrote to De Montaigne, who
succeeded no better. Caesarini was bent on playing his
own game ; and to one game, without a metaphor, he
had at last come. His craving for excitement vented
itself at hazard, and his remaining guineas melted daily
away.

But De Montaigne's letters to Maltravers consoled
him for the loss of less congenial friends. The French-
man was now an eminent and celebrated man, and his
appreciation of Maltravers was sweeter to the latter
than would have been the huzzas of crowds. But, all
this while, his vanity ^tns pleased and his curiosity

THB MYSTERIOUS LETTERS. 75

roused by the continued correspondence of his unseen
Egeria. That correspondence (if so it may be called,
being all on one side) had now gone on for a consider-
able time, and he was still wholly unable to discover
the author : its tone had of late altered — it had become
more sad and subdued — it spoke of the hoUowness as
well as the rewards of fame, and, with a touch of true
womanly sentiment, often hinted more at the rapture of
soothing dejection than of sharing triumph. In all
these letters there was the undeniable evidence of high
intellect and deep feeling — they excited a strong and
keen interest in Maltravers, yet the interest was not
that which made him wish to discover, in order that he
might love, the writer. They we're, for the most part,
too full of the irony and bitterness of a marCs spirit, to
fascinate one who considered that gentleness was the
essence of a woman's strength. Temper spoke in them
no less than mind and heart, and it was not the sort of
temper which a man who loves women to be womanly
could admire.

** I hear you often spoken of (ran one of these strange
epistles), " and I am almost equally angry whether fools
presume to praise or to blame you. This miserable
world we live in, how I loathe and disdain it ! yet I de-
sire you to serve and to master it ! Weak contradiction,
effeminate paradox ! Oh, rather a thousand times that
you would fly from its mean temptations and poor re-
wards! If the desert were your dwelling-place, and
you wished one minister, I could renounce all — wealth,
flattery, repute, womanhood, to serve you.

" I once admired you for your genius. My disease
has fastened on me, and I now almost worship you for
yourself. I have seen you, Ernest Maltravers — seen
you often — and when you never suspected that these
eyes were on you. Now that I have seen I understand
you better. We cannot judge men by their books and
deeds. Posterity can know nothing of the beings of
the past. A thousand books never written, a thousand
deeds never done, are in the eyes and lips of the few
greater than the herd. In that cold abstracted gaze,
that pale and haughty brow, I read the disdain of ob-
stacles which is worthy of one who is confident of the
goal. But my eyes fill with tears when I survey you !

76 MR. TSMPLETON GROWS SULLEN.

— ^you are sad, you are alone ! If failures do not mortify
you, success does not elevate. Oh Maltravers, I, woman
as I am, and living in a narrow circle, 1, even I, know
at last, that to have desires nobler and ends more au-
gust than others is but to surrender waking life to
morbid and melancholy dreams.

" Go more into the world, Maltravers, go more into the
world, or quit it altogether. Your enemies must be met ;
they accumulate, they grow strong ; you are too tranquil,
too slow in yuur steps towards the prize which should
be yours, to satisfy my impatience, to satisfy yuur
friends. Be less refined in your ambition, that you
may be more immediately useful. The feet of clay,
after all, are the swiftest in the race. Even Lumley
Ferrers will outstrip you if you do not take heed.

" Why 4o I run on thus 1 — you — ^you love another,
yet you are not less the ideal that 1 could love— if I
ever loved any one. You love — ^and yet — well — ^no
matter."

CHAPTER II.

** Well, but this is being only an official nobleman. No matter.
His still being a nobleman, and that's his aim.**— Aiwmymoitf 'Wriur
0/1722.

" La musique est le seul des talens qui joaissent de InJ mdoie;
tons les auties veulent des temoina.'* — BIabmontkl.

** Thus the slow ox would gaudy trappings clum.**

HOKACB. .

Mr. Templeton had not obtained his peerage, and,
though he had met' with no direct refusal, nor made
even a direct application to headquarters, he was grow-
ing sullen. He had great parliamentary influence, not
close borough, illegitimate influence, but very proper
orthodox influence of- character, wealth, and so forth.
He could return one member at least for a city — he
could almost return one member for a county — ^and in

TAKE GARB OF NUMBER ONE. 77

three boroughs, any activity on his part would turn the
scale in a close contest. The ministers were strong
but they still could not afford to lose supporters hitherto
zealous — the example of desertion is contagious. In
the town which Templeton had formerly represented,
and which he now almost commanded, a vacancy sud-
denly occurred — a candidate started on the opposition
side and commenced a canvass; to the astonishment
and panic of the secretary of the treasury, Templeton
put forward no one, and his interest remained dormant.
Lord Saxingham hurried to Lumley.

" My dear fellow, what is this— what can your uncle
be about 1 We shall lose this place — one of our strong-
holds. Bets run even.'^

" Why, you see, you have all behaved very ill to my
uncle — ^I am really sorry for it, but I can do nothing."

" What, this confounded peerage. Will that content
him, and nothing short of it V

" Nothing."

" He must have it, by Jove." •

** And even that may come too late."

" Ha ! do you think so 1"

" Will you leave the matter to me 1"

" Certainly — ^you are a monstrous clever fellow, and
we all esteem you."

" Sit down and write as I dictate, my dear lord."

^* Well," said Lord Saxingham, seating himself al
Lumley's enormous writing-table — " well, go on."

" My dear Mr. Templeton"

'' Too famiUar," said Lord Saxingham.

" Not a bit; go on."

" My dear Mr. Templeton ;

" We are anxious to secure your parliamentary influence
(j^ •*•♦* to the proper quarter, namely, to your own family
as the best defenders of the administration, which you hon-
our by yowr support. We wish signally, at the same timcy
to express our confidence in your principles and our grati-
tude for your countenance.^"*

"6 — d sour countenance!" muttered Lord Saxing-
ham.

" Accordingly,^'* continued Ferrers, " as one whose con-
nexion with you permits the liberty, allow me to request that
you will suffer our joint relation, Mr. Ferrers, to be put into
tmmediate nomination."

Lord Saxingham threw down the pen and laughed for

78 TAKE CAEB Of NUMBER ONE.

two minutes without ceasing. " Capital, Lomley) cap-
ital ! very odd I did not think of it before."

'* Each man for hilnself, and God for us all,'' returned
Lumley, gravely ; " pray go on, my dear lord."

'* We are sure you could not have a representative that
would more faithfully reflect your own opinions and ourit^-
terests. One word more, A creation of peers will probabhf
take place in the spring, among which I am sure your name
would be to his majesty a gratifying addition; the title
will, of course, he secured to your sons — and, failing the lat-
ter, to your nephew,

" With great regard and respect,

" TriUy yours,'

^ Saxinoham."

^* There, inscribe that * Private and confidential,' and
send it express to my uncle's villa."

** It shall be done, my dear Lumley ; and this contents
me as much as it does you. You are really a man to
do us credit. You think it will be arranged ?"

"No doubt of it."

" Well, good-day. Lumley, come to me when it is all
settled ; Florence is always glad to see you ; she says no
one amuses her more. And I am sure that is rare praise,
for she is a strange girl — quite a Timon in petticoats."

Away went Lord Saxingham.

" Florence glad to see me !" said Lumley, throwing
his arms behind him, and striding to and fro the room
— " Scheme the Second begins to smile upon me be-
hind the advancing shadow of Scheme One. If I can
but succeed in keeping away other suiters from my fair
cousin until I am in a condition to propose myself, why
I may carry off the greatest match in the three king-
doms, Courage, mon brave Ferrers, courage .'"

It was late that evening when Ferrers arrived at his
uncle's villa. He found IVfrs. Templeton in the drawing-
room, seated at the piano. He entered gently ; she did
not hear him, and continued at the instrument. Her
Yoice was so sweet and rich, her taste so pure, that
Ferrers, who was a good judge of music, stood in de-
lighted surprise. Often as he had now been a visiter,
even an inmate at the house, he had never before heard
Mrs. Templeton play any but sacred airs, and this was
one of the popular songs of sentiment. He perceived
19i^t her feeling at last overpowered her voice, and she

MftS. TBMPLBTON. 79

XMiQsed abruptly, and turning round, her face was so el-
oquent of emotion, that Ferrers was forcibly struck by
its expression. He was not a man apt to feel curiosity
for anything not immediately concerning himself; but
he did feel curious about this melancholy and beautiful
woman. There was in her usual aspect that inexpres-
sible look of profound resignation which betokens a
lasting remembrance of a bitter past; a prematurely
blighted heart spoke in her eyes, her smile, her languid
and joyless step. But she performed the routine of her
quiet duties with a calm and conscientious regularity,
which showed that grief rather depressed than disturbed
her thoughts. If her burden were heavy, custom seemed
to have reconciled her to bear it without repining ; and
the emotion which Ferrers now traced in her soft and
harmonious features was of a nature he had only once
beheld before, viz., on the first night he had seen her
when poetry, which is the key of memory, had evi-
dently opened a chamber haunted by mournful and
troubled ghosts.

" Ah ! dear madam," said Ferrers, advancing, as he
found himself discovered, *^ I trust I do not disturb you.
My visit is unseasonable ; but ray uncle — where is he ?"

" He has been in town aU the morning ; he said he
should dine out, and I now expect him every minute."

"You have been endeavouring to charm away the
sense of his absence. Dare 1 ask you to continue to
play ? It is seldom that I hear a voice so sweet and
science so consummate. You must have been instruct-
ed by the best Italian masters."

" No," said Mrs. Templeton, with a very slight colour
in her delicate cheek, " I learned young, and of one
who loved music and felt it, but who was not a for-
eigner."

" Will you sing me that song again ? You give the
words a beauty I never discovered in them ; yet they
(as well as the music itself) are by my poor friend whom '
Mr. Templeton does not like — Maltravers."

"Are they his alsol" said Mrs. Templeton, with
emotion ; " it is strange I did not know it. I heard the
air in the streets, and it struck me much. I inquired
the name of the song and bought it— it is very strange {"

" What is strange 1"

" That there is a kind of language in your fsiend's
mnsic and poetry which comes home tome, like words

80 THE PESRAOB.

I have heard yean ago ! la he young, this Mr. Maltraf-
ers t"

" Yes, he is still young."

" And, and—"

Here Mrs. Templeton was interrupted by the entrance
of her husband. He held the letter from Lord Saxing-
ham — it was yet unopened. He seemed moody, but
that was common with him. He coldly shook hands
with Lumley, nodded to his wife, found fault with the
fire, and, throwing himself into his easy chair, said, '* So,
Lumley, I think I was a fool for taking your advice, and
hanging back about this new election. I see by the
evening papers that there is shortly to be a creation of
peers. If I had shown activity on behalf of the gov-
ernment, I might have shamed them into gratitude."

*' 1 think I was right, sir," replied Lumley ; ** public
men are often alarmed into gratitude, seldom shamed
into it. Firm votes, like old friends, are most valued
when we think we are about to lose them ; but what is
that letter in your hand ?"

'* Oh, some begging petition, I suppose."

" Pardon me — it has an official look."

Templeton put on his spectacles, raised the letter, ex-
amined the address and seal, hastily opened it, and broke
into an exclamation very like an oath; when he had
concluded, " Give me your hand, nephew — ^the thing is
settled — I am to have the peerage. You were right—
ha, ha! my dear wife, you will be my lady, think of
that — am't you glad 1 Why don't your ladyship smile ?
"Where's the child I where is she, I say V

'^ Gone to bed, sir !" said Mrs. Templeton, half fright-
ened.

** Gone to bed ! I must go and kiss her — gone to bed,
has she I Light that candle, Lumley. [Here Mr. Tem-
pleton rang the bell.l John," said he, as the servant en-
tered, " John, tell James to go the first thing in the
morning to Baxter's, and tell him not to paint my cha-
riot till he hears from me. I must go kiss the cmld— I
must, really."

** Damn the child," nuittered Lumley, as, after giving
the candle to his uncle, he turned to the fire ; *' what
the dense has she got to do with the matter ! Charm-
ing little girl, yours, madam 1 How I love her ! My
uncle dotes on her : no wonder !"

'* He is, indeed, very, Yeiy fond of her," said Mrs.

817CCBS8 OPENS CLOSE HEARTS. 81

Templeton, with a sigh that seemed to come from the
depth of her heart.

*' Did he take a fancy to her before vou were married V'

" Yes, 1 believe — oh, yes, certainly."

" Her oMm father could not be more fond of her."

Mrs Templeton made no answer, but lighted her
candle, and, wishing Lumley good-night, glided from the
room.

^\ wonder if my grave aunt and my grave uncle took
a bite at the apple before they bought the right of the
tree.> It looks suspicious ; yet no, it can't be ; there is
nothing of the seducer or the seductive about the old
fellow. It is not likely — here he comes." -

In came Templeton, and his eyes were moist and his
brow relaxed.

" And how is the little angel, sir 1" asked Ferrers.

'* She kissed me, though 1 woke her up ; children are
usually cross when waked."

*'*' Are they, little dears ! Well, sir, so I was right,
then ; may ! see the letter V

" There it is."

Ferrers drew his chair to the fire, and read his own
production with all the satisfaction of an anonymous
author.

" How kind ! — how considerate ! — ^how delicately put !
— ^a double favour ! But, perhaps, after all, it does not
express your wishes."

" In what way ?"

"Why — why — about myself."

" You ! — is there anything about you in it 1 I did not
observe that — let me see."

" Uncles never selfish ! Mem. for commonplace
book !" thought Ferrers.

The uncle knit his brows as he repenised th6 letfer.
" This won't do, Lumley," he said, very* shortly, when
he had done.

"A seat in parliament is too much honour for a poor
nephew, then, sir V said Lumley, very bitterly, though
he did not feel at all bitter ; but it was the proper tone ;
•' 1 have done all in my power to advance your ambi-
tion, apd you will not even lend a hand to put me one
step in my career ; but forgive me, sir, I have no right
to expect it."

"Lumley!" replied Templeton, kindly, "vou mistake
me, I thmk much more highly of you than I did-*-

82 ALL THINGS ARE NAMBS.

much : there is a steadmess, a sohriety about you most
praiseworthy, and you shall go into parliament if you
wish it, but not for ••♦**. I will give my interest
there to some other friend of the government, and, in
return, they can give you a treasury borough ! That is
the same thing to you.^'

Lumley was agreeably surprised — he pressed his
uncle^s hand warmly, and thanked him cordially. Mr.
Templeton proceeded to explain, to him that it was in-
convenient and expensive sitting for places where one^s
family was known, and Lumley fully subscribed to all.

"As for the settlement of the peerage, that is all
right,*' said Templeton ; and then he sunk into a rev-
ery, from which he broke joyously — " yes, that is all
right. I have projects, objects — ^this may unitfe them
all-Hiothing can be better — ^you will be the next lord—
what — I say, what title shall we have 1"

" Oh, take a sounding one — you have very little landed
property, I think V

** Two thousand a year in shire, bought a bar-
gain."

" What's the name of the place?"

" Grubley."

"Lord Grubley! — Baron Grubley of Grubley—ob,
atrocious ! who had the place before you ?"

" Bought it of Mr. Sheepshanks — ^very old family."

" But surely some old Norman once had the place V'

"Norman, yes! Henry the Second gave it to his
barber — Bertram Courval."

" That's it — that's it — Lord de Courval — singukir co-
incidence !— descent from the old line. Herald's college
soon settle ail that. Lord de Courval! — ^nothing can
sound better. There must be a village or hamlet stiQ
called Courval about the property."

" I'm afraid not. There is Coddle End."

*• Coddle End !— Coddle End !— the very thing, sir—
the very thing — clear corruption from Courval ! — ^Lord
de Courval of Courval ! Superb! Ha! ha!"

" Ha ! ha !" laughed Templeton, and he had haidly
laughed before since he was thirty.

The relations sat long and conversed fan^iliarly.

Ferrers slept at the villa, and his sleep was sound, for

he thought little of plans once formed and half executed ;

'it was the hunt that kept him awake, and he slept like

a hound when the prey was down. Not so Templeton,

LUMLET MAKES THE MOST OP HIM8BLP. 83

who did not close his eyes all night. "Yes, yes,"
thought he, " I must get the fortune and the title in one
line by a prudent management. Ferrers deserves what
[ mean to do for him. Steady, good-natured, frank, and
will get on — ^yes, yes, I see it all. Meanwhile I did
well to prevent his standing for *••••; might pick up
gossip about Mrs. T., and other things that might be un«
pleasant. Ah, I'm a shrewd fellow !"

CHAPTER III.

** Lonmut. — There, marquis, there, Pve done it.
Mcntespan. — Done it ! yes ! Nice doings !"

The Duchets de la Valliebb.

LuMLEY hastened to strike while the iron was hot.
The next morning he went straight to the treasury;
saw the managing secretary, a clever, sharp man, who,
like Ferrers, carried off intrigue and manoeuvre by a
blunt, careless, bluff manner.

Ferrers announced that he was to stand for the free,
respectable, open city of •*♦•, with an electoral popu-
lation of 2500 — a very showy place it was for a member
in the old ante-reform times, and was considered a
thoroughly independent borough. The secretary con-
gratulated and complimented him.

'* We have had losses lately in our elections among
the larger constituencies," said Lumley.

" We have, indeed — three towns lost in the last six
months. Members do die so very unseasonably !"

" Is Lord Staunch yet provided forV^asked Lumley.
Now Lord Staunch was one of the popular show-fight
great guns of the administration ; not in office, but that
most useful person to all governments, an out-and-out
supporter upon the most mdependent principles ; who
was known to have refused place, and to value himself
on independence ; a man that helped the government
over the stile when it was seized with a temporary
lameness, and who carried " great weight with him in
the country." Lord Staunch had foolishly thrown'up
a close borough in order to contest a large city, aad

84 LUMLE7 MAKES THB MOST OF HIMSELF.

had failed in the attempt His failure was eveiywhere
cited as a proof of the growing unpopularity of minis-
ters.
'* Is Lord Staunch yet provided forV' asked Lumley.
"Why, he must have his old seat, * Three -Oaks.'
Three Oaks is a nice, quiet little place — most respectable
constituency — rU Staunch's own family.''

" Just the thing for him, yet 'tis a pity that he did not
wait to stand for ••♦•* ,- my uncle's interest would have
secured him."

"Ay, I thought so the moment ••*•* was vacant
However, it is too late now."

" It would be a great triumph if Lord Staunch could
show that a large constituency volunteered to elect
him without expense."

"Without expense! Ah, yes, indeed! It would
prove that purity of election still exists — ^that British
mstitutions are still upheld."

" It Jnight be done, Mr. ."

" Why, I thought that you—"
" Were to stand — that is true — and it will be difficult
to manage my uncle ; but he loves me much — you know
I am his heir — I believe 1 could do it — that is, if you
think it would be a very great advantage to the party,
and a very great service to the government."
" Why, Mr. Ferrers, it would indeed be both."
" And in that case I could have Three Oaks."
" I see — exactly so — but to give up so respectable a
seat — really it is a sacrifice."

" Say no more, it shall be done. A deputation shall
wait on Lord Staunch directly. I will see my uncle,
and a despatch shall be sent down to *•*•• to-night, at
least I hope so. I must not be too confident. My
uncle is an odd man ; nobody but myself can manage
him ; I'll go this instant."

" You may \^ sure your kindness will be duly appre-
ciated."

Lumley shook hands cordially with the secretary,
and retired. The secretary was not "humbugged,"
nor did Lumley expect he should be. But the secre-
tary noted this of Lumley Ferrers (and that gentle-
man's object was gained), that Lumley Ferrers was a
man who looked out. for office, and, if he did tolerably
well in parliament, that Lumley Ferrers was a man
who ought to be pushed.

LORD BAZZNGBAlff* 80

Very shortly afterward the Oazetie announced the
election of Lord Staunch for •♦♦•*, after a sharp but
decisive contest. The ministerial journals ranff with
exulting psans ; the opposition ones called the electors
of ••♦•• all manner of hard names, and declared that
Mr. Stout, Lord Staunch's opponent, would petition,
which he never did. In the midst of the hubbub, Mr.
Lumley Ferrers quietly and unobservedly crept into
the representation of Three Oaks.

On the night of his election he went to Lord Saxing-
ham's : but what there happened deserves another chap-
ter.

CHAPTER IV.

** Je connois des princes du sang, des princes Strangers, des grands
seigneurs, des mimstres d'etat, des magistrats, et des philosophes
oui fiieroieiit pour Tamour de vous. En pouvez-vous demander
a'avaotage?'*— Lettres de Madams db Sbyionb.

** Undore. I— I believe it will choke me. Pm in love. Now, hold
your tongue. Hold your tongue, I say.

** Dalner. You in love ! Ha ! ha !

*• Lmd. There, he laughs.

** DtU. No ; 1 am really sorry for you.''— (German Flay {False DeU-
eaey),

"What is here?
Gold !»

Shaxspbakb.

It happened that that eyening Maltravers had, for
the first time, accepted one of many invitations with
which Lord Saxingham had honoured him. His lord-
Bhip and Maltravers were of different poUtical parties,
nor were they in other respects adapted to each other.
Lord Saxingham was a clever man in his way, but
worldly, even to a proverb, among woridly people. That
** man was born to walk erect and look upon the stars,"
is an eloquent fallacy that Lord Saxingham might suffice
to disprove. He seemed born to waUL with a stoop;
wid if he ever looked upon any stars, they were those
which go with a garter. Though of celebrated and his-
torical ancestry, great rank, and some personal reputa-
tion, he hod aU Uie ambitkm of a parvenu. He had a

Vol. II.— H

86 ERNS13T AND LADT PLORENCE.

strong regard foroffice^ not so much from the snblhne
aflection for that sublime thing, power over the destinies
of a glorious nation, as because it added to that vulgar
thing, importance in his own set. He looked on his
cabinet uniform as a beadle looks on his gold-lace. He
also liked patronage, secured good things to distant
connexions, got on his family to the remotest degree
of relationship ; in short, he was of the earth, earthy.
He did not comprehend Maltravers, and Maltravers,
who every day grew prouder and prouder, despised him.
Still Lord Saxingham was told that Maltravers was a
rising man, and he thought it well to be civil to rising
men of whatever party ; besides, his vanity was flattered
by having men who are talked of in his train. He was
too busy and too great a personage to think Maltravers
could be other than sincere when he declared himself
in his notes, " very sorry," or " much concerned," to fore-
go the honour of dining with Lord Saxingham on the,
&c., &c. ; apd therefore continued his invitations, till
Maltravers, from that fatality which undoubtedly regu-
lates and controls us, at last accepted the proffered dis-
tinction.

He arrived late — most of the guests were assembled ;
and, after exchanging a few words with his host, Er-
nest fell back into the general groupe, and found him-
self in the immediate neighbourhood of Lady Florence
Lascelles. This lady had never much pleased Maltrav-
ers, for he was not fond of masculine or coquettish
heroines, and Lady Florence seemed to him to merit
both epithets ; therefore, though he had met her often
since the first day he had been introduced to her, he had
usually contented himself with a distant bow or a pas-
sing salutation. But now, as he turned round and saw
her — she was, for a miracle, sitting alone — and in her
most dazzhng and noble countenance there was so evi-
dent an appearance of ill-health, that he was struck and
touched by it. In fact, beautiful as she was, both in
iace and form, there was something in the eye and the
bloom of Lady Florence which a skilful physician -
would have seen with prophetic pain. And, whenever
occasional illness paled the roses of the cheek and
sobered the play oi the lips, even an ordinary observer
^ ould have thought of the old commonplace proverb—
''that the brightest beauty has the briefest life." It
was some sentiment of this kind, perhaps, that now

SBLP*BSTBBM. 87

awakened the sympathy of Maltravers. He addressed
her with more marked courtesy than usual, and took a
seat by her side.

" You have been to the House, I suppose, Mr. Mal-
travers V said Lady Florence.

"Yes, for a short time; it is not one of our field-
nights — no division was expected ; and by this time, I
dare say, the house has been counted out."

'* Do you like the life V

" It has excitement," said Maltravers, evasively.

" And the excitement is of a noble character V

" Scarcely so, I fear — it is so made up of mean and
malignant motives — there is in it so much jealousy of
our friends, so much unfairness to our enemies — such
readiness to attribute to others the basest objects — such
willingness to avail ourselves of the poorest stratagems !
— the ends may be great, but the means are very am-
biguous."

" I knew you would feel this," exclaimed Lady Flor-
ence, with a heightened colour.

" Did you ?" said Maltravers, rather interested, as
well as surprised. "I scarcely imagined it possible
that you would deign to divine secrets so insignificant."

"You did not do me justice, then," returned Lady
Florence, with an arch yet half-painful smile ; " for —
i)ut I was about to be impertinent."

" Nay, say on."

" For — then — I do not imagine you to be one apt to
do injustice to yourself."

" Oh ! you consider me presumptuous and arrogant ;
but that is conmion report, and you do right, perhaps,
-to believe it."

" Was there ever any one unconscious of his own
merit 1" asked Lady Florence, proudly. " They who dis-
trust themselves have good reason for it."

*• You seek to cure the wound you inflicted," returned
Maltravers, smiling.

** No ; what I said was an apology for myself as well
as for you. You need no words to vindicate you — you
are a man, and can bear out all arrogance with the royal
motto — Dim et mon droit. With you, deeds can sup-
port pretension ; but I am a woman — it was a mistake
of Nature !"

" But what triumphs that man can achieve bring so
immediate, so palpable a reward as those won by a wo-

88 BRNB«T 18 INTBR18TED.

man, beautifnl and admired — ^who finds every room an
empire, and every class her subjects ?"

*' It is a despicable realm/'

" What ! — to command — ^to win — to bow to your wor-
ship — the greatest, and the highest, and the sternest;
to own slaves in those whom men recognise as their
lords ! Is such power despicable ? If so, what power
is to be envied ?"

Lady Florence turned quickly round to Maltravers,
and fixed on him her large dark eyes, as if she would
read into his very heart. She turned away with a
blush and a slight frown — ^*' There is mockery on your
lip," said she.

Before Maltravers could answer, dinner was an-
nounced, and a foreign ambassador claimed the hand of
Lady Florence. Maltravers saw a young lady, with
gold oats in her very light hair, fall to his lot, and de-
scended to the dining-room thinking more of Lady
Florence Lascelles than he had ever done before.

He happened to sit nearly opposite to the youifg mis-
tress of the house (Lord Saxingham, as the reader
knows, was a widower, and Lady Florence an only
child) ; and Maltravers was that day in one of those
felicitous moods in which our animal spirits search
and carry up, as it were, to the surface, our intellectual
gifts and acquisitions. He conversed generally and
happily; but once, when he turned his eyes to ap-
peal to Lady Florence for her opinion on some point
in discussion, he caught her gaze fixed upon him with
an expression that checked the current of his gayety,
and cast him into curious and bewildered revery. In
that gaze there was earnest and cordial admiration,
but it was mixed with so much mournfulness that the
admiration lost its eloquence, and he who noticed it
was rather saddened than flattered.

After dinner, when Maltravers sought the drawing-
rooms, he found them filled with the customary mob
of good society. In one comer he discovered Castruc-
cio Caesarini playing on a guitar, slung across his
breast with a blue riband. The Italian sang well:
many young ladies were grouped round him, among
others Florence Lascelles. Maltravers, fond as he was
of music, looked upon Castruccio's performance as a
disagreeable exhibition. He had a Quixotic idea of the
dignity of talent, and though himself of a nmsical science

LOTS AND 8ELP-L0Y>. 89

and a melody of voice that would have thrown the room
into ecstasies, he would as soon have turned juggler or
tumbler for polite amusement, as contended for the bra-
voes of a drawing-room. It was because he was one of
the proudest men in the world that Maltravers was one of
the least rain. He did not care a rush for applause in
small things ; but Caesarini would have summoned the
whole world to see him play at push-pin, if he thought
he played it well.

"Beautiful! divine! charming!" cried the young la-
dies, as Ceesarini ceased ; and Maltravers observed that
Florence praised more earnestly than the rest, and that
Cssarini's dark eyes sparkled, and his pale cheek
flushed with unwonted brilliancy. Florence turned to
Maltravers, and the Italian, following her eyes, frowned
darkly.

" You know the Sisnor Caesarini," said Florence,
joining Maltravers. "He is an interesting and gifted
person."

" Unquestionably. I grieve to see him wasting his
talents upon a soil that may yield a few short-lived
flowers, without one useful plant or productive fruit."

" He enjoys the passing hour, Mr. Maltravers ; and
sometimes, when I see the mortifications that await
sterner labour, I think he is right."

** Hush !" said Maltravers ; " his eyes are on us ; he
is listening breathlessly for every word you utter. I
fear you have made an unconscious conquest of a poet^s
heart ; and, if so, he purchases the enjoyment of the
passing hour at a feariul price." •

" Nay," said Lady Florence, indifferently, " he is one of
those to whom the fancy supplies the place of the heart.
And if I give him an inspiration, it will be an equal lux-
ury to him whether his lyre be strung to hope or disap-
pointment. The sweetness of his verses will compen-
sate to him for any bitterness in actual life.^'

" There are' two kinds of love," answered Maltravers ;
love and self-love ; the wounds of the last are often
most incurable in those who appear least vulnerable to
the first. Ah, Lady Forence, were I privileged to play
the monitor, I would venture on one warning, however
much it might offend you."

" And that is—"

" To forbear coquetry."

Maltravers smiled as be spoke, but it was gravely

90 XHNSST SEimONIZBS,

aad at the game time be moyed gently away.^ But
I^ady Florence laid her hand on his arm.

^^ Mr. M altravers," said she, very softly, and with a
kind of faltering in her tone, '' am I wrong to say that
I am anxious for your good opinion ? Do not judge me
harshly. I am soured, discontented, unhappy, i hare
no sympathy with the world. These men whom I see
around me — what are they } the mass of them unfeel-
ing and silken egotists — ill-judging, ill-educated, well-
dressed: the few who are called distinguished — ^how
selfish in their ambition, how hard, how unimaginative
in their pursuits! Am I to be blamed if 1 exert &
power over such as these, which rather proves my
scorn of them than my own vanity V

'' 1 have no right to argue with you."

**Yes, argue with me, convince me, guide me—
Heaven knows that, impetuous and haughty as I am, I
need a guide" — and Lady Florence's eyes swam with
tears. Ernest's prejudices against her were greatly
shaken : he was even somewhat dazzled by her beauty
and touched by her unexpected gentleness; but stiU
his heart wafi not ass^ed, and he replied almost cold-
ly, after a short pause,

" Dear Lady Florence, look round the world — who so
much to be envied as yourself 1 What sources of hap-
piness and pride are open to you ! Why, then, make to
yourself causes of discontent — ^why be scornful of those
who cross not your path ? Why not look with charity
upon God's less endowed children, beneath you as they
may seem 1 What consolation have you in hurting the
hearts or the vanities of others ? Do you raise your-
fielf even in your own estimation ? You affect to be
above your sex — yet what character do you despise
more in women than that which you assume ? Semi-
ramis should not be a coquet ! There, now, I have of-
fended you ! I confess I am very rude."

'* I am not offended," said Florence, almost struggling
with her tears, and she added inly, " Ah, I am too hap-
py i" There are some lips from which even the proud- \
est women love to hear the censure whieh appears to J
disprove indifference. ^

It was at this time that Lumley Ferrers, flushed with
the success of his schemes and projects, entered the
room ; and his quick eye fell upon that comer, in which
lie detected what appMcwl to him a veorsr ^^aming to-

JEALocsri 91

t&ti^B between his rich cousin and Ernest Maltrayen.
He advanced to the spot, and, with his customary frank-
ness, extended a hand to each.

*' Ah, my dear and fair cousin, give me your congrat-
ulations, and ask me for my first frank, to be bound up
in a collection of autographs by distinguished seitators
'—it will sell high one of these days. Your most obe-
dient, Mr. Maltravers; how we shall laugh in our
sleeves at the humbug of politics, when you and I,
the best friends in the world, sit vis-d-vis on opposite
benches. But why. Lady Florence, have you never intro-
duced me to your pet Italian f AUons ! 1 am his match
in Alfieri, whom, of course, he swears by, and whose
verses, by-the- way, seem cut out of boxwood; the
hardest material for turning off that sort of machinery
that invention ever hit on."

Thus saying, Ferrers contrived, as he thought, very
cleverly, to divide a pair that he much feared were
justly formed to meet by nature ; and, to his great joy,
Maltravers shortly afterward withdrew.

Ferrers, with the happy ease that belonged to his
complacent though plotting character, soon made Cae»-
sarini at home with him ; and two or three slighting ex-
pressions which the former dropped with respect to
Maltravers, coupled with some outrageous compliments
to the Italian, completely won the heart of the latter.
The brilliant Florence was more silent and subdued
than usual ; and her voice was softer, though graver,
when she replied to Castruccio's eloquent appeals.
Castruccio was one of those men who talk fine. By
degrees, Lumley lapsed into silence, and Ustened to
what took place between Lady Florence and the Italian,
while appearing to be deep in "The Views of the
Rhine" which lay on the table.

" Ah," said the latter, in his soft native tongue, " could
you know how I watch every shade of that counte-
nance which makes my heaven ! Is it clouded, night
is with me ! is it radiant, I am as the Persian gazing
on the sun !"

'' Why do you speak thus to me t Were you not a
poet I might be angry."

"You were not angry when the English poet, that
cold Maltravers, spoke to you perhaps as boldly."

Lady Florence drew up her haughty head. " Sig-
ner," said she, checking, however, her first impulse,

92 COQUETRY PUNISHED.

and with mildness, ''Mr. Maltravers neither flatten
nor—"

** Presumes, you were about to say," said Caesarini,
grinding his teeth. " But it is weU— once you were
less chilling to the utterance of my deep devotion."

" Never, Signor Caesarini, never — ^but when I thought
it was but the common gallantry of your nation : let me
think so still."

" No, proud woman," said Cassarini, fiercely, " no-
hear the truth."
y Lady Florence rose indignantly.

*' Hear me," he continued. " I — I, the poor foreign-

' er, the despised min8t|rel,^dare to lift up my ..eyes to

you. I love you!" .? ^ /:,.> ? / t_ ^ <.<. >\/.-*u>.^^

Never had Florence ]Lascelles been so humiliated
and confounded. However she might have amused
herself with the vanity of Caesarini, she had not given
him, as she thought, the warrant to address her — the
^eat Lady Florence, the prize of dukes and princes—
m this hardy manner ; she almost fancied him insane.
But the next moment she recalled the warning of Mal-
travers, and felt as if her punishment had commenced.

" You will think and speak more calmly, sir, when
we meet again ;" and, so saying, she swept away.

Caesarini remained rooted to the spot, with his dark
countenance expressing such passions as are rarely seen
in the aspect of civilized men.

" Where do you lodge, Signor Caesarini 1" asked the
bland, familiar voice of Ferrers. " Let us walk part of
the way together — that is, when you are tired of these
hot rooms."

Caesarini groaned. " You are ill," continued Ferrers;
"the air will revive you — come." He glided from the
room, and the Italian mechanically followed him. They
walked together for some moments in silence, side by
side, in a clear, lovely moonlight night. At length
Ferrers said, "Pardon me, my dear signor, but yon
may already have observed that I am a very frank, odd
sort of a fellow. I see you are caught by the charms
of my cruel cousin. Can I serve you in any way?"

A man at all acquainted with the world in which we
live would have been suspicious of such cordiality in
the cousin of an heiress towards a very unsuitable as-
pirant. But Caesarini, like many indifferent poets (but
Uke few good ones), had no common sense. He thought

LVMLBY C0N80LBS CJBSARINI. 98

it quite natural that a man who admired his poetry so
much as Lumley had declared he did, should take a
lively interest in* his welfare; and he therefore replied
warmly, '* Oh, sir, this is indeed a crushing blow : I
dreamed she loved me. She was ever flattering and

gentle when she spoke to me, and in verse already I
ad told her of my love, and met with no rebuke."
" Did you really and plainly declare love, and in your
own person 1"

" Why, the sentiment was veiled, perhaps — ^put into
the mouth of a fictitious character, or conveyed in an

allegory. 'V
" Oh !" ejaculated Ferrer#thinking it very likely that

the gorgeous Florence, hymned by a thousand bards,
had done little more than cast a glance over the lines
that had cost poor Csesarini such anxious toil and in-
spired him with such daring hope — " oh ! — and to-night .
she was more severe ! — she is a terrible coquette, la
belle Florence ! But perhaps you have a rival."

" I feel it — I saw it — I know it."

" Whom do you suspect ?"

" That accursed Maltravers. He crosses me in every
path — my spirit quails beneath his whenever we en-
counter. I read my doom."

"If it be Maltravers," said Ferrers, gravely, "the
dafiger cannot be great. Florence has seen but little
of him, and he does not admire her ihuch ; but she is a
great match, and he is ambitious. We must guard
against this betimes, Caesarini — for, know that I dislike
Maltravers as much as you do, and will cheerfully aid
you in any plan to blight his hopes in that quarter."

" Generous, ndble friend ! yet he is richer, better
bom than I."

" That may be ; but, with Lady Florence's position,
all minor grades of rank in her aspirants seem pretty
well levelled. Come, I don't tell you that I would not
sooner she married a countryman and an equal ; but I
have taken a liking to you, and I detest Maltravers.
She is very romantic — fond of. poetry to a passion —
writes it herself, I fancy. Oh, you'll just suit her ; but,
alas ! how will you see herV

" See her ! What mean you V

"Why, have you not declared love to-night? I
thought I overheard you. Can you for a moment
fancy that, after such, an avowal, Lady Florence wiU

d4 LUMLEY TURNED COUNSELLOR.

again receive you — ^that is, if she mean to reject your
suit 1"

" Fool that I was ! But no— she must, she shall."

'* Be peri^aded, in this country violence won't do.
Take my advice ; write an humble apology, confess
your fault, invoke her pity, and, declaring that you re-
nounce for ever the character of a lover, implore still
to be acknowledged as a friend. Be quiet now — ^hear
me out ; I am older than you ; 1 know my cousin ; this
will pique her : your modesty will sooth, while your
coldness will arouse her vanity. Meanwhile you will
watch the progress of Maltravers — 1 will be by your el-
bow ; and, between us, to #le a homely phrase, we will
do for him. Then you may have your opportunity-
clear stage and fair play."

Caesarini was at first rebellious ; but at length even
he saw the policy of the advice. But Lumley would
not leave him till the advice was adopted. He made
Castruccio accompany him to a club, dictated the letter
to Florence, and undertook its charge. This was not aU.

" It is also necessary," said Lumley, after a short but
thoughtful silence, ^' that you should write to Maltrav-
ers."

"And for what?"

" I have my reasons ; ask him, in a frank and friendly
spirit, his opmion of Lady Florence — state your behef
that she loves you — and inquire ingenuously what he
thinks your chances of happiness in such a union."

" But why this ?"

" His answer may be useful," retturned Lumley, mu-
singly. " Stay, I will dictate the letter."

Caesarini wondered and hesitated, but there was that
about Lumlev Ferrers which had already obtained com-
mand over the passionate poet. He wrote, therefore,
as Lumley dictated, beginning with some commonplace
doubts as to the happiness of marriage in general— ex-
cusing himself for his recent coldness towards Msdtrav-
ers, and asking him his confidential opinion both as to
Lady Florence's character and his own chances of sue
cess.

This letter, like the former one, Lumley sealed and
despatched.

" You perceive," he then said briefly to Caesarini,
*' that it is the object of this letter to entrap Maltravers
into some plain and honest avowal of his dislike to Lady

WRONG ROADS TO FAME. 95

Florence ; wc may make good use of such expressions
hereafter, if he should ever prove a rival. And now go
home to rest — ^you look exhausted. Adieu, my new
friend."

" I have long had a presentiment," said Lumley to
his counsellor self, as he walked to Great George-
street, " that that wild girl has conceived a romantic
fancy for M altravers. But I can easily prevent such an
accident ripening into misfortune. Meanwhile, I have
secured a tool if 1 want one. By Jove, what an ass
that poet is ! But so was Cassio ; yet lago made use
of him. If lago had been born now, and dropped that
foolish fancy for revenge,^hat a glorious fellow he
would have been ! Prime minister, at least !"

Pale, haggard, exhausted, Castruccio Caesarini, tra-
versing a length of way, arrived at last at a miserable
lodging in the suburb of Chelsea. His fortune was now
gone — gone in supplying the poorest food to a craving
and imbecile vanity ; gone, that its owner might seem
what nature never meant him for — the elegant Lothario
— the graceful man of pleasure — the troubadour of
modem lifel gone in horses, and jewels, and fine
clothesi, and gaming, and printing unsaleable poems on
gilt-edged vellum ; gone that he might be, not a greater,
but a more fashionable man than Ernest Maltravers !
Such is the common destiny of those poor adventurers
who confine fame to boudoirs and saloons. No matter
whether they be poets or dandies, wealthy parvenus or
aristocratic cadets, all equally prove the adage, that the
wrong paths to reputation are strewed with the wrecks
of peace, fortune, happiness, and, too often, honour!
And yet this poor young man had dared to hope for the
hand of Florence Lascelles ! He had the common no-
tion of foreigners, that English girls marry for love — are
very romantic — that, within the three seas, heiresses
are as plentiful as blackberries ; and, for the rest, his
vanity had been so pampered that it now insinuated it-
self into every fibre of his intellectual and moral system.

Caesarini looked cautiously round as he arrived at his
door, for be fancied that, even in that obscure place,
persons might be anxious to catch a glimpse of the cel-
ebrated poet ; and he concealed his residence from all
—dined on a roll when he did not dine out, and left his
address at " The Travellers." He looked round, I say.
Mid he did observe a tall figure^ wrapped in a cloak, that

96 LVMLBT^S PARLIAMEVTART BEBUT.

had, indeed, followed him from a distant and more pop-
ulous part of the town. But the figure turned round
and vanished instantly. Caesarini mounted to his sec-
ond floor. And about the middle of the next day a
messenger left a letter at his door, containing one hun-
dred pounds in a blank envelope. Caesarini knew not
the writing of the address ; his pride was deeply wound
ed : amid all his penury he had not even applied to his
own sister. Could it come from her — from De Mon-
taigne ? He was lost in conjecture. He put the re-
mittance aside for a few days, for he had something
fine in him, the poor poet ! but bills grew pressing, and
necessity hath no law. %

Two days afterward Caesarini brought to Ferrers
the answer he had received from Maltravers. Lumley
had rightly foreseen that the high spirit of Ernest
would conceive some indignation at the coquetry of
Florence in beguiling the Italian into hopes never to be
realized; that he would express himself openly and
warmly. He did so, however, with more gentlene^
than Lumley had anticipated.

" This is not exactly the thing," said Ferrers, after
twice reading the letter ; " still it may hereafter be a
strong card in our hands — we will keep it."

So saying, he locked up the letter in his desk, and
Caesarini soon forgot its existence.

CHAPTER V.

" She was a phantom of delight
When first she ^leam'd upon mj sight ;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament.**

WORDSWORITH.

Maltravers did not see Lady Florence again for
some -weeks ,- meanwhile Lumley Ferrers made his
deMu in parliament. Rigidly adhering to his plan of
acting on deliberate system, and not prone to overrate
himself, Mr. Ferrers did not, like most promising new
members, try the hazardous ordeal of a great first speech.
Hiough bold, fluetit, and ready, he was not eloquent;

ERNEST VISITS CLEVELAND. 97

and he knew that, on great occasions, when great
speeches are wanted, great guns like to have the fire
to themselves. Neither did he split upon the rock of
"promising young men," who stick to "the business
of the house" like leeches, and quibble on details, in
return for which labour they are generally voted bores
who can never do anything remarkable. But he spoke
frequently, shortly, courageously, and with a strong
dash of good-humoured personality. He was the man
whom a minister could get to say something which
other people did not like to say ; and he did so with a
frank fearlessness that carried off any seeming violation
of good taste. He soon became a very popular speaker
in the parliamentary clique ; especially with the gen-
tlemen who crowd the bar, and never want to hear the
argument of the debate. Between him and Maltravers
a visible, coldness now existed — for the latter looked
upon his old friend (whose principles of logic led him
even to republicanism, and who had been accustomed
to accuse Ernest of temporizing with plain truths, if he
demurred to their application to artificial states of so-
ciety) as a cold-blooded and hypocritical adventurer;
While Ferrers, seeing that Ernest could now be of no
further use to him, was willing enough to drop a profit-
less intimacy. Nay, he thought it would be wise to
pick a quarrel with him, if possible, as the best means
of banishinif a supposed rival from the house of his noble
relation, Lord Saxingham. But no opportunity for that
step presented itself — so Lumley kept a fit of conveni-
ent rudeness, or an impromptu sarcasm in reserve, if
ever it should be wanted.

The season and the session were alike drawing to a
close, when Maltravers received a pressing invitation
from Cleveland to spend a week at his villa, which he
assured Ernest would be full of agreeable people ; and
as all business productive of debate or division was
over, Maltravers was glad to obtain fresh air and a
change of scene. Accordingly, he sent down his lug-
gage and favourite books, and, one afternoon in early
August, rode alone towards Temple Grove. He was
much dissatisfied, perhaps disappointed, with his ex-
perience in public life, and with his high-wrought and
over-refined views of the deficiencies of others more
prominent ; he was in a humour to mingle also censure
of himself, for having yielded too much to the doubts

Vol. II.— I

96 CHILDISH BEAXJTT.

and scraples ihat often, in the eariy part of their career,
beset the honest and sincere, in the turbulent whirl of
politics, and ever tend to make the robust hues that
should belong to action,

" Sicklied o*er with the pale cast of thought.**

His mind was working its way slowly towards those
conclusions which sometimes ripen the best practical
men out of the most exalted theorists, and perhaps he
saw before him the pleasing prospect flatteringly ex-
hibited to another, when he complained of being too
honest for party, viz., " of becommg a very pretty ras-
cal in time !"

For several weeks he had not heard from his un-
known correspondent, and the time was come when he
missed those letters — now continued for more than two
years — and which, in their eloquent mixture of com-
plaint, exhortation, despondent gloom, and declamatory
enthusiasm, had often soothed him in dejection, and
made him more sensible of triumph. While revolving
' in his mind thoughts connected with these subjects—
and, somehow or other, with his more ambitious rever-
ies were always mingled musings of curiosity respect-
ing his correspondent — ^he was struck by the beauty
of a little girl, of about eleven years old, who was
walking with a female attendant on the footpath that
skirted the road. I said that he was struck by her
beauty, but that is a wrong expression ; it was rather
the charm of her countenance than the perfection of
her features which arrested the ^aze of Maltravers—
a charm that might not have existed for others, bat
was inexpressively attractive to him, and was so much
apart from the vulgar fascination of mere beauty, that
it would have equally touched a chord at his heart, if
coupled with homely features or a bloomless cheek.
This charm was in a wonderful innocence and dovelike
softness of expression. We all form to ourselves some
beau ideal of the " fair spirit" we desire as our earthly
" minister," and somewhat capriciously gauge and pro-
portion our admiration of living shapes acconling as the
beau ideal is more or less imbodied or approached.
Beauty, of a stamp that is not familiar to the dreams
of our fancy, may win the cold homage of our judg-
ment, while a look, a feature, a something that realizes
and calls up a boyish vision, and assimilates even dis-

AN ADVENTURE. 99

ttntly to the picture we wear within us, has a loveli-
ness peculiar to our eyes, and kindles an emotion that
almost seems to belong to memory. It is this which
the Platonists felt when they wildly supposed that souls
attracted to each other on earth had been united in an
earlier being and a diviner sphere ; and there was in
the young face on which 'Ernest gazed precisely this
ineffable harmony with his preconceived notions of the
beautiful. Many a nightly and noonday re\ery was
realized in those mild yet smiling eyes of the darkest
blue ; in that ingenuous breadth of brow, with its slight-
ly pencilled arches, and the nose, not cut in that sharp
and clear symmetry which looks so lovely in marble,
but usually gives to flesh and blood a decided and hard
character, that better becomes the sterner than the
gentler sex — no ; not moulded in the pure Grecian or
in the pure Roman cast ; but small, delicate, with the
least possible inclination to turn upward, that was only
to be detected in one position of the head, and served
to give a prettier archness to the sweet flexile lips,
which, from the gentleness of their repose, seemed to
smile unconsciously, but rather from a happy constitu-
tional serenity than from the giddiness of mirth. Such
was the character of this fair child's countenance, on
which Maltravers turned and gazed involuntarily and
reverently, with something of the admiring delight with
which we look upon the Virgin of a Raifaelle or the
sunset landscape of a Claude. The girl did not appear
to feel any premature coquetry at the evident though
respectful admiration she excited. She met the eyes
bent upon her, brilliant and eloquent as they were, with
a fearless and unsuspecting gaze, and pointed out to
her companion, with all a child's quick and unrestrained
impulse, the shining and raven gloss, the arched and
haughty neck, of Ernest's beautiful Arabian.

Now there happened between Maltravers and the
young object of his admiration a little adventure, which
served, perhaps, to fix in her recollection this short en-
counter with a stranger ; for certain it is, that, years
after, she did remember both the circumstances of the
adventure and the features of Maltravers. She wore
one of those large straw hats which look so pretty upon
children, and the warmth of the day made her untie the
strings which confined it. A gentle breeze arose as,
by a turn in the road, the country became more open,

>:j^V^^^

100 FORTITUDE AND TIMIDITY.

and suddenly wafted the hat from its proper post — al-
most to the hoofs of Ernest's horse. The child natu-
rally made a spring forward to arrest the deserter, and
her foot slipped down the bank, which was rather
steeply raised above the road ; she uttered a low cry
of pain. To dismount, to regain the prize, and to re-
store it to its owner was, with Ernest, the work of a
moment ; the poor girl had twisted her ankle, and was
leaning upon her servant for support. But when she
saw the anxiety, and almost the alarm, upon the stran-
ger's face (and her exclamation of pain had literally
thrilled his heart — so much and so unaccountably haid
she excited his interest), she made an effort at self-con-
trol not common at her years, and, with a forced smile,
assured him she was not much hurt — that it was no-
thing — ^that she was just at home.

" Oh, miss !" said the servant, " I am sure you are
very bad. Dear heart, how angry master will be. It
was not my fault, was it, sir V

** Oh, no, it was not your fault, Margaret ; donH be
frightened — papa sha'nH blame you. But Fm much
better now." So saying, she tried to walk, but the
effort was vain ; she turned yet more pale, and, though
she struggled to prevent a shriek, the tears rolled down
her cheeks.

It was very odd, but Maltravers had never felt more
touched ; the tears stood in his own eyes ; he longed
to carry her in his arms, but, child as she was, a strange
kind of nervous timidity forbade him. , Margaret, per-
haps, expected it of him, for she looked hard in his
face before she attempted a burden to which, being a
small, slight person, she was by no means equal. How-
ever, after a pause, she took up her charge, who,
ashamed of her tears and almost overcome with pain,
nestled her head in the woman's bosom, and Maltravers
walked by her side, while his docile and well-trained
horse followed at a distance, every now and then put-
ting his forelegs on the bank, and cropping away a
mouthful of leaves from the hedgerow.

"Oh, Margaret!" said the little sufferer, "I cannot
bear it — indeed I cannot."

And Maltravers observed that Margaret had permitted
the lamed foot to hang down unsupported, so that the
pain must indeed have been scarcely bearable. He
could restrain himself no longer.

BRNB8T ALMOST IN LOVB. 101

" You are not strong enough to carry her,'* said he,
sharply, to the servant ; and the next moment the child
was- in his arms. Oh, with what anxious tenderness he
bore her ! and he was so happy when she turned her
face to him, and smiled, and told him she now scarcely
felt the pain. If it were possible to be in love with a
child of eleven years old, Maltravers was almost in
love. His pulses trembled as he felt her pure breath on
his cheek, and her rich beautiful hair was waved by
the breeze across his lips. He hushed his voice to a
whisper as he poured forth all the soothing and com-
forting expressions which give a natural eloquence to
persons fond of children — and Ernest Maltravers was
the idol of children ; he understood and sympathized
with them ; he had a great deal of the child himself
beneath the rough and cold husk of his proud reserve.
At length they came to a lodge, and Margaret, eagerly
inquiring " whether master and missus were at home,"
seemed delighted to hear they were not. Ernest, how-
ever, insisted on bearing his charge across the lawn to
the house, which, Uke most suburban villas, was but a
stone's throw from the lodge ; and, receiving the most
positive promise that surgical advice should be imme-
diately sent for, he was forced to content himself with
laying the sufferer on a sofa in the drawing-room ; and
she thanked him so prettily, and assured him she was
so much easier, that he would have given the world to
kiss her. The child had completed her conquest over
him by being above the child's ordinary Httleness of
making the worst of things, in order to obtain the con-
sequence and dignity of being pitied ; she was evidently
unselfish and considerate for others. He did kiss her,
but it was the hand that he kissed, and no cavalier ever
kissed his lady's hand with more respect ; and then, for
the first time, the child blushed ; then, for the first time,
she felt as if the day would come when she should be
a child no longer! Why was thisi perhaps because
it is an era in life ; the first sign of a tenderness that
inspires respect, not familiarity !

" If ever I could be* in love," said Maltravers, as he
spurred on his road, " I really think it would be with
that exquisite child. My feeling is more like that of
love at first sight than any emotion which beauty ever
caused in me. Alice — Valerie — ^no; the first sight

102 THB child's parentaok.

of them did not: but what folly is this! a child of
eleven,' and 1 verging upon thirty !"

Still, however, folly as it might be, the image of that
young girl haunted Maltravers for many days ; till
change of scene, the distractions of society, the grave
thoughts of manhood, and, above all, a series of exciting
circumstances about to be narrated, gradually obliter-
ated a strange and most delightful impression. He had
learned, however, that Mr.Templetonwasthe proprietor
of the villa which was the child^s home. He wrote to
Ferrers to narrate the incident, and to inquire after the
sufferer. In due time he heard from that gentleman
that the child was recovered, and gone with Mr. and
Mrs. Templeton to Brighton, for change of air and sea-
bathing.

END OF BOOK VU.

BOOK VIIL

EoEiFiDma—Iphag, m Avl, L 1310

'* Whither come Wisdom*! queen
And the snare-weaving LoTe."

BOOK VIIL

CHAPTER I.

** Notiti&m primosque gradus vicinia fscit." — Oyxo.

CLByELAND*6 viUa was full, and of persons usually
called Hgreeable. Among the rest was Lady Florence
Lascelles. The wise old man had ever counselled
Maltravers not to marry too young ; but neither did he
wish him to put off that momentous epoch of life till all
the bloom of heart and emotion was passed away. He
thought, with the old lawgivers, that thirty was the
happy age for forming a connexion, in the choice of
which, with the reason of manhood, ought, perhaps, to
be blended the passion of youth. Aiid he saw that few
men were more capable than Maltravers of the true en-
joyments of domestic life. He had long thought, also,
that none were more calculated to sympathize with
Ernest's views, and appreciate his peculiar character,
than the gifted and brilliant Florence Lascelles. Cleve-
land looked with toleration on her many eccentricities
of thought and conduct— eccentricities which he ima-
gined would rapidly melt away beneath the inthience of
that attachment which usually operates sp ^reat a change
in women ; and, where it is strongly and mtensely felt,
moulds even those of the most obstinate character into
compliance or similitude with the sentiments or habits
of its object.

The stately self-control of Maltravers was, he con-
ceived, precisely that quality that gives to men an un-
conscious command over the very thoughts of the wo-
man whose affection they win: while, on the other
hand, he hoped that the fancy and enthusiasm of Flor-
ence would tend to render sharper and more practical
an ambition which seemed to the sober man of the
world too apt to refine upon the means, and to cut b&no

106 BRNB8T AND PLORBNCB OFTEN MEBT.

the objects of worldly distinction. Besides, Cleveland
was one who thoroughly appreciated the advantages of
wealth and station ; and the rank and the dower of Flor-
ence were such as would force Maltravers into a posi-
tion in social life which could not fail to make new
exactions upon talents which Cleveland fancied were
precisely those adapted rather to command than to
serve. In Ferrers he recognised a man to get into
power — ^in Maltravers one by whom power, if ever at-
tained, would be wielded with dignity, and exerted for
great uses. Something, therefore, higher than mere
covetousness for the vulgar interests of Maltravers,
made Cleveland desire to secure to him the heart and
hand of the great heiress ; and he fancied that, what-
ever might be the obstacle, it would nofbe in the will
of Lady Florence herself. He pnidently resolved,
however, to leave matters to their natural course. He
hinted nothing to one party or the other. No place for
falling in love like a large country-house, and no time
for it, among the indolent well-bom, like the close of a
London season, when, jaded by small cares and sick-
ened of hollow intimacies, even the coldest may well
Team for the tones of affection — the excitement of an
honest emotion.

Somehow or other it happened that Florence and
Ernest, after the first day or two, were constantly thrown
together. She rode on horseback, and Maltravers was
by her side ; they made excursions on the river, and
they sat on the same bench in the gliding pleasure-boat
In the evenings, the younger guests, with the assistance
of the neighbouring families, often got up a dance in a
temporary pavilion built out of the dining-room. Ernest
never danced. Florence did at first. But once, as she
was conversing with Maltravers when a gay guardsman
came to claim her promised hand in the waltz, she
seemed struck by a grave change in Ernest's face.

" Do you never waltz?" she asked, while the guards-
man was searching for a comer wherein safely to de-
posite his hat.

" No," said he, "yet there is no impropriety in my
waltzing."

" And you mean that there is in mine ?"

" Pardon me — I did not say so."

" But you think it."

" Nay, on consideration, I am glad, perhaps, that yoa
do waltz."

florbnce's health. 107

" You are mysterious.'*

" Well, then, I mean that you are precisely the wo-
man I would never fall in love with. And I feel the
danger is lessened when I see you destroy any one of
my illusions, or, I ought to say, attack any one of my
prejudices."

Lady Florence coloured ; but the guardsman and the
music left her no time to reply. However, after that
night she waltzed no more. She was unwell — she de-
clared she was ordered not to dance, and so quadrilles
were relinquished as well as the waltz.

Maltravers could not but be touched and flattered by
this regard for his opinion ; but Florence contrived to
testify it so as to forbid acknowledgment, since another
motive had been found for it. The second evening after
that commemorated by Ernest^s candid rudeness, they
chanced to meet in the conservatory, which was con-
nected with the ball-room ; and Ernest, pausing to
inquire after her health, was struck by the listless and
dejected sadness which spake in her tone and counte-
nance as she replied to him.

"Dear Lady Florence," said he, "I fear you are
worse than you will confess. You should shun these
draughts. You owe it to your friends to be more care-
ful of yourself."

"Friends!" said Lady Florence, bitterly — ^'* I have
no friends! Even my poor father would not absent
himself from a cabinet-dinner a week after I was dead.
But that is the condition of public life ; its hot and sear-
ing blaze puts out the lights of all lesser but not unho-
lier affections. Friends! Fate, that made Florence
Lascelles the envied heiress, denied her brothers, sis-
ters ; and the hour of her birth lost her even the love
of a mother ! Friends ! where shall I find them 1"

As she ceased she turned to the open casement, and
stepped out into the verandah, and by the trembling of
her voice Ernest felt that she had done so to hide or
to suppress her tears.

" Yet," said he, following her, " there is one class of
more distant friends whose interest Lady Florence
Lascelles cannot fail to secure, however she may dis-
dain it. Among the humblest of that class suffer me to
rank myself. Come, I assume the privilege of advice —
the night air is a luxury you must not indulge."

"No, no, it refreshes me— it sooths. You misun*

108 A STRANGE CONTBRSATION.

derstand me ; I have no illness that still skies and
sleeping flowers can increase.*'

Maltravers, as is evident, was not in love with Flor-
ence, but he could not fail, brought, as he had lately
been, under the direct influence of her rare and prodigsd
gifts, mental and personal, to feel for her a strong and
even affectionate interest; the very frankness with
which he was accustomed to speak to her, and the
many links of communion there necessarily were be-
tween himself and ^nind so naturally powerful anH so
richly cultivated, haolKready established their acquaint-
ance upon an intimate footing.

" I cannot restrain you. Lady Florence,*' said he,
half smiling, '* but my conscience will not let me be an
accomplice. I will turn king^s evidence, and hunt out
Lord Saxingham to send him to you."

Lady Florence, whose face was averted from his, did
not appear to hear him.

" And you, Mr. Maltravers," turning quickly round—
" you — ^have you friends 1 Do you feel that there are, I
do not say public, but private affections and duties, for
which life is made less a possession than a trust V

" Lady Florence — no— I have friends, it is true, and
Cleveland is of the nearest ; but the life within life— the
second self, in whom we vest the right and masteiy
over our own being — ^I know it not. But is it," he
added, after a pause, " a rare privation ? Perhaps it is
a happy one. I have learned to lean on my own soul,
and not look elsewhere for the reeds that a wind can
break."

"Ah, it is a cold philosophy; you may reconcile
yourself to its wisdom in the world, in the hum and
shock of men; but in solitude, with Nature— ah, no!
While the mind alone is occupied, you may be contented
with the pride of stoicism ; but there are moments when
the heart wakens as from a sleep — wakens like a frigh^
ened child— to feel itself alone and in the dark."

Ernest was silent, and Florence continued, in an al-
tered voice. ** This is a strange conversation ; and yon
must think me indeed a wild, romance-reading person,
as the world is apt to call me. But if I live— I — ^pshaw!
life denies ambition to women."

" If a woman like you, Lady Florence, should ever
love, it will be one in whose career you may perhaps

THE WORLD. 10^

find that noblest of all ambitions — ^the ambition women
only feel — the ambition for another !"

" Ah, but I shall never love," said Lady Florence,
and her cheek grew pale as the starlight shone on it ;
" still, perhaps," she added, quickly, " I may at least
know the blessing of friendship. Why, now," and here,
approaching Maltravers, she laid her hand with a winning
frankness on his arm — " why, now, should not we be to
each other as if love, as you call it, were not a thing for
earth, and friendship supplied its place ? There is no
danger of our falling in love with each other. You are
not vain enough to expect it in me, and I, you know, am
a coquette ; let us be friends, confidants ; at least till
you marry, or I give another the right to control my
friendship and monopolize my secrets."

Malt^ravers was startled ; the sentiment Florence ad-
dressed to him, he, in words not dissimilar, had once
addressed to Valerie.

" The world," said he, kissing the hand that yet lay
on his arm, " the world will — "

" Oh, you men ! the world, the world ! Everjrthing
gentle, everything pure, everything noble, highwrought,
and holy, is to be squared, and cribbed, and maimed to
the rule and measure of the world ! The world — are
you, too, its slave ? Do you not despise its hollow cant —
its methodical hyjjocrisy ?"

" Heartily," said Ernest Maltravers, almost with
fierceness; "no man ever scorned its false gods and
its miserable creeds — its war upon the weak — its fawn-
ing upon the great — ^its ingratitude to benefactors — its
sordid league with mediocrity against excellence. Yes,
in proportion as I love mankind, I despise and detest
that worse than Venetian oligarchy which mankind set
over them and call ' the world.' "

And then it was, warmed by the excitement of re-
leased feelings, long and carefully shrouded, that this
man, ordinarily so calm and self-possessed, poured
burningly and passionately forth all those tumultuous
and almost tremendous thoughts which, however much
we may regulate, control, or disguise them, lurk deep
within the souls of all of us, the seeds of the eternal
war between the natural man and the artificial ; between
our wilder genius and our social conventionalities;
thoughts that from time to time break forth into the
harbingers of vain and fruitless revolutions, impotent

Vol. II.— K

110 THE NEW ALLIANCE.

Struggles against destiny ; thoughts that -good and wise
men would be slow to promulge and propagate, for they
are of a fire which bums as well as brightens, and
which spreads from heart to heart, as a spark spreads
amid flax ; thoughts which are rifest where natures are
most high, but belong to truths that virtue dare not tell
aloud. And, as M altravers spoke, with his eyes flashing
almost intolerable light, his breast heaving, his form
dilated, never, to the eyes of Florence Lascelles, did he
seem so great ; the chains that bound the strong hmbs
of his spirit seemed snapped asunder, and all his soul
was visible and towering, as a thing that has escaped
slavery, and lifts its crest to heaven, and feels that it is
free.

' That evening saw a new bond of alliance between
these two persons : young, handsome, and opposite
sexes, they agreed to be friends, and nothing more!
Fools !

CHAPTER II.

" Idem Telle, et idem nolle, ea demum firma amicitia est.^

"C&rlo9. That letter.

Princess Eboli. Oh, I shall die. Return it instantly."

Schiller. — Ihn Carlos,

It seemed as if the compact Maltravers and Lady
Florence had entered into removed whatever embar-
rassment and reserve had previously existed. They
now conversed with an ease and freedom not common in
persons of different sexes before they have passed their
grand chmacteric. Ernest, in ordinary life, like most
men of warm emotions and strong imagination, if not
taciturn, was at least guarded. It was as if a weight
were taken from his breast, when he- found one person
who could understand him best when he was most can-
did. His eloquence, his poetry, his intense and con-
centrated enthusiasm found a voice. He could talk to
an individual as he would have written to the public — a
rare happiness to us men of books.

THE TIDE RT7N8 SMOOTH. Ill

Florence seemed to recover her health and spirits as
by a miracle ; yet was she more gentle, more subdued
than of old ; there was less effort to shine, less indiffer-
ence whether she shocked. Persons who had not met
her before wondered why she was dreaded in society.
But at times a great natural irritabiUty of temper — a
quick suspicion of the motives of those around her — an
imperious and obstinate vehemence of will, were visible
to Maltravers, and served, perhaps, to keep him heart-
whole. He regarded her through the eyes of the intel-
lect, not those of the passions ; he thought not of her
as a woman ; her very talents, her very grandeur of,
idea, and power of purpose, while they delighted him
in conversation, diverted his imagination from dwelling
on her beauty. He looked on her as something apart
from her sex ; a glorious creature spoiled by being a wo-
man. He once told her so, laughingly, and Florence
considered it a compliment. Poor Florence, her scorn
of her sex aveyged her sex, and robbed her of her prop-
er destiny !

Cleveland silently observed their intimacy, and lis-
tened with a quiet smile to the gossips who pointed out
tited-tites by the terrace and Toiterings by the lawn,
and predicted what would come of it all. Lord Saxing-
ham was blind. But his daughter was of age, in pos-
session of her princely fortune, and had long made him
sensible of her independence of temper, ifis lordship,
however, thoroughly misunderstood the character of
her pride, and felt fully convinced she would marry no
one less than a duke ; as for flirtations, he thought them
natural and innocent amusements. Besides, he was
very little at Temple Grove. He went to London every
morning after breakfasting in his own room ; came back
to dine, play at whist, and talk good-humoured non-
sense to Florence in his dressing-room for the three
minutes that took place between his sipping his wine-
and-water and the appearance of his valet. As for the
other guests, it was not their business to do more than
gossip with each other ; and so Florence and Maltrav-
ers went on their way unmolested, though not unob-
served. Maltravers, not being himself in love, never
fancied that Lady Florence loved him, or that she would
be in any danger of doing so ; this is a mistake a man
often commits, a woman never. A woman always /
knows when she is loved, though she often imagines ')

112 THE NEW WORK.

Bhe is loved when she is not. Florence was not happy,
for happiness is a calm feeling. But she was excited
with a vague, wild, intoxicating emotion.

She had learned from Maltravers that she had been
misinformed by Ferrers, and that no other claimed em-
pire over his heart ; and whether or not he loved her,
still for the present they seemed all in all to each other;
she lived but for the present day, she would not thii^ of
the morrow.

Since that severe illness which had tended so much
to alter Ernest's mode of life, he had not come before
the public as an author. Latterly, however, the old
habit had broken out again. With the comparative
idleness of recent years — the ideas and feelings which
crowd so fast on the poetical temperament, once in-
dulged, had accumulated within him to an excess that
demanded vent. For with some, to write is not a vague
desire, but an imperious destiny. The fire is kindled,
and must break forth ; the wings are Hedged, and the
birds must leave their nest. The communication of
thought to man is implanted as an instinct in those
breasts to which God has intrusted the solemn agencies
of genius. In the work which Maltravers now com-
posed he consulted Florence : his confidence delighted
her ; it was a compliment she could appreciate. Wild,
fervid, impassioned was that work, a brief and holyday
creation — the yoimgest and most beloved of the chil-
dren of his brain. And as day by day the bright design
grew into shape, and thought and imagination found
themselves " local habitations," Florence felt as if she
were admitted into the palace of the genii, and made
acquainted with the mechanism of those spells and
charms with which the preternatural powers of mind
design the witchery of the world. Ah, how diflferent in
depth and majesty were those intercommunications of
idea between Ernest Maltravers and a woman scarcely
inferior to himself in capacity and acquirement, from
that bridge of shadowy and dim sympathies which the
enthusiastic boy had once built up between his own
poetry of knowledge and Alice's poetry of love !

It was one late afternoon in September, when the sun
was slowly going down its western way, that Lady
Florence, who had been all that morning in her own
room — ^paying off, as she said, the dull arrears of cor-
respondence, rather on Lord Saxingham's account than

LBTTBR-WRITINO. 113

ker own ; for he punctiliously exacted flrom her the
most scrupulous attention to cousins fifty times re-
moved, provided they were rich, clever, well off, or in
any way ofi consequence : it was one afternoon that,
relieved from these avocations. Lady Florence strolled
through the grounds with Cleveland. . The gentlemen
•were still in the stubble-fields, the ladies were out in
barouches and pony phaetons — and Cleveland and Lady
Florence were alone.

Apropos of Florence's epistolary employment, their
conversation fell upon that most charming species of
literature, which joins with the interest of a novel the
truth of a history — the French memoir and letter wri-
ters. It was a part of literature in which Cleveland
was thoroughly at home.

"Those agreeable and polished gossips," said he,
" how well they contrive to introduce nature into art !
Everything artificial seems so natural to them. They
even feel by a kind of clockwork, which seems to go
better than the heart itself. Those pretty sentiments,
those delicate gallantries of Madame de S6vign6 to h«r
daughter, how amiable they are — but, somehow or other,
I can never fancy them the least motherly. What an
ending for a maternal epistle is that elegant compliment
— * Songez que de tons les coBurs ou vous regnez, il n'y
en a aucun ou votre empire soit si bien etabli que dans
le mien.' I can scarcely fancy Lord Saxingham writing
so to you. Lady Florence."

" No, indeed," replied Lady Florence, smiling. " Nei-
ther papas nor mammas in England are much addicted
to compliment ; but I confess I like preserving a sort
of gallantry, even in our most familiar connexions-
why should we not carry the imagination into all the
affections 1"

** I can scarce answer the why," returned Cleveland ;
** but I think it would destroy the reality. I am rather
of the old school. If I had a daughter, and asked her
to get my slippers, I am afraid I should think it a little
wearisome if I had, in receiving them, to make des bel-
les phrases in return."

While they were thus talking, and Lady Florence
continued to press her side of the question, they passed
through a little grove that conducted to an arm of the
stream which ornamented the grounds, and, by its quiet
and shadowy gloom, was meant to give a contrast to

114 A PULN FOR CJBSARINI.

the livelier features of tbe domain. Here they came
suddenly upon Maltravers. He was walking by the side
of the brook, and evidently absorbed in thought.

It was the trembling of Lady Florence's hand as it
lay on Cleveland's arm that induced him to stop short
in an animated commentary on Rochefoucault's charac-
ter of Cardinal de Retz, and look round.

" Ha ! most meditative Jacques," said he, " and what
new moral hast thou been conning in our Forest of Ar-
dennes V

" Oh, I am glad to see you ; I wished to consult you,
Cleveland. But first, Lady Florence, to convince you
and our host that my rambles have not been wholly
fruitless, and that I could not walk from Dan to Beer-
sheba and find all barren, accept my offering — a wild
rose that I discovered in the thickest part of the wood.
It is not a civilized rose. Now, Cleveland, a word with
you."

" And now, Mr. Maltravers, I am de trop^'^ said Lady
Florence.

" Pardon me, I have no secrets from you in this mat-
ter—or rather these matters — for there are two to be
discussed. In the first place, Lady Florence, that poor
Caesarini — ^you know and like him — nay, no blushes."

" Did I blush 1 Then it was in recollection of an old
reproach of yours."

" At its justice ! Well, no matter. He is one for
whom I always felt a lively interest. His very morbid-
ity qf temperament only increases my anxiety for his
future fate. I have received a letter from De Mon-
taigne, his brother-in-law, who seems seriously uneasy
about Castruccio. He wishes him to leave England at
once, as the sole means of restoring his broken fortunes.
De Montaigne has the opportunity of procuring him a

diplomatic situation which may not again occur and

— ^but you know the man ! What shaU we do ? I am
sure he will not listen to me ; he looks on me as an in-
terested rival for fame."

" Do you think I have any subtler eloquence V said
Cleveland. " No, I am an author too. Come, I think
your ladyship must be the arch-negotiator."

"He has genius, he has merit," said Maltravers,
pleadingly ; " he wants nothing but time and experience
to wean him from his foibles. WxlX you try to save
him, Lady Florence ?"

A CONFIDENCE IN P0LI7*ICS. 115

" Why ! nay, I must not be obdurate — ^I will see him
when I go to town. It is like you, Mr. Maltravers, to
feel this interest in one — "

" Who does nOt love me, you would say ; but he will
some day or other. Besides, I owe him deep gratitude.
In his weaker qualities I have seen many which all lit-
erary men might incur without strict watch over them-
selves ; and, let me add, also, that his family have great
claims on me."

'* You believe in the somidness of his heart, and in
the integrity of his honour V said Cleveland, inquiringly.

" Indeed, I do ; these are — these must be the redeem
ing quahties of poets."

Maltravers spoke warmly; and such, at that time.
was his influence over Florence, that his words formed
— alas, too fatally — ^her estimate of Castruccio's char
acter, which had at first been high, but which his own
presumption had latterly shaken. She had seen him
three or four times in the interval between the receipt
of his apologetic letter and her visit to Cleveland, and
he had seemed to her rather sullen than humbled. But
she felt for the vanity she herself had wounded.

" And now," continued Maltravers, " for my second
subject of consultation. But that is poUtical — will it
weary Lady Florence ?"

*' Oh, no, to politics I am never indifferent ; they al-
ways inspire me with contempt or admiration — accord-
ing to the motives of those who bring the science into
action. Pray, say on."

" Well," said Cleveland, " one confidant at a time ;
you will forgive me, for I see my guests coming across
the lawn, and I may as#irell make a diversion in your
favour. Ernest can consult me at any time."

Cleveland walked away, but the intimacy between
Maltravers and Florence was of so frank a nature, that
there was nothing embarrassing in the thought of a
tite-d'tete,

" Lady Florence," said Ernest, " there is no one in
the world with whom I cnn consult so cheerfully as
with you. I am almost glad of Cleveland's absence ;
for, with all his amiable and fine qualities, * the world
is too much with him,' and we do not argue from the
same data. Pardon my prelude — now to my position.
I have received a letter from Mr. . That states-
man, whom none but those acquainted with the chival-

116 D017BT8 NOT COMMON TO PRACTICAL MEN.

rons beauty of his nature can understand or appreciate,
sees before him the most brilliant career that ever
opened in this country to a pubhc man not bom an aris-
tocrat. He has asked me to form one of the new ad-
ministration that he is aboht to create : the place of-
fered to me is above my merits, nor suited to what I
have yet done ; though, perhaps, it be suited to what I
may yet do. I make that qualification, for you know,''
added Ernest, with a proud smile, " that I am sanguine
and self-confident."

" You accept the proposal."

" Nay — should I not reject it ? Our politics are the
same only for the moment, our ultimate objects are

widely different. To serve with Mr. I must

make an unequal compromise — abandon nine opinions
to promote one. Is not this a capitulation of that great
citadel, one's own conscience ? No man will call me
inconsistent, for, in public life, to agree with another
on a party question is all that is required ; the thousand
questions not yet ripened, and lying dark and concealed
in the future, are not inquired into and divined : but I
own I shall deem myself worse than inconsistent. For
this is my dilemma — if I use this noble spirit merely to
advance one object, and then desert him where he halts,
I am treacherous to him ; if I halt with him, but one of
my objects effected, I am treacherous to myself. Such
are my views. It is with pain I arrive at them, for, at
first, my heart beat with a selfish ambition."

" You are right, you are right," exclaimed Florence,
with glowing cheeks ; " how could I doubt you ? I
comprehend the sacrifice you make ; for a proud thing
it is to soar above the predictions of foes in that palpa
ble road to honour which the world's hard eyes can sec
and the world's cold heart can measure ; but prouder is
it to feel that you have never advanced one step to the
goal which remembrance would retract. No, my friend,
wait your time, confident that it must come, when con-
science and ambition can go hand in hand— when the
broad objects of a luminous and enlarged poUcy lie be-
fore you like a chart, and you can calculate every step
of the way without peril of being losf. Ah, let them
still caU loftiness of purpose and whiteness of soul the
dreams of a theorist ; even if they be so, the ideal in
this case is better than the practical. Meanwhile your
position is not one to forfeit lightly. Before you is that

K DISCOVERY AND CONFESSION. 117

throne in literature which it requires no doubtful step
to win, if you have, as I believe, the mental power to
attain it ; an ambition that may indeed be relinquished
if a more troubled career can better achieve those pub-
lic purposes at which both letters and policy should aim,
but which is not to be surrendered for the rewards of a
placeman or the advancement of a courtier."

It was while uttering these noble and inspiring senti-
ments that Florence Lascelles suddenly acquired in Er-
nest's eyes a loveliness with which they had not before
invested her.

" Oh," he said, as with a sudden impulse he lifted her
hand to his lips, "blessed be the hour in which you
gave me your friendship. These are the thoughts I
have longed to hear from living lips, when I have been
tempted to believe patriotism a name and virtue but a
dream."

Lady Florence heard, and her whole form seemed
changed ; she was no longer the majestic sibyl, but the
attached, timorous, but delighted woman.

It so happened that, in her confusion, she dropped
from her hand the flower Maltravers had given her, and,
involuntarily gla3 of a pretext to conceal her counte-
nance, she stooped to take it from the ground. In so
doing a letter fell from her bosom, and Maltravers, as
he bent forward to forestall her own movement, saw
that the direction was to himself, and in the handwri-
ting of his unknown correspondent. He seized the let-
ter, and gazed in flattered and entranced astonishment,
first on the writing, next on the detected writer. Flor-
ence grew deadly pale, and, covering her face with her
hands, burst into tears.

" Qh, fool that I was," cried Ernest, in the passion of
the moment, " hot to know — not to have felt that there
were not two Florences in the world ! But, if the thought
had crossed me, I would not have dared to harbour it."

" Go, go," sobbed Florence ; " leave me, in mercy
leave me."

" Not till you bid me rise," said Ernest, in emotion
scarcely less deep-than hers, as he sank on his knee at
her feet.

Need I go on T When they left that spot a soft con-
fession h^ been made, deep vows interchanged, and
Ernest Maltravers was the accepted suiter of Florence
Lascelles.^

118 THOUGHTS THAT COME TOO LATE

CHAPTER III.

" A hundred £itbers would, in my sitaation, tell you that, as yoa
are of noble extraction, yoa should marry a nobleman. But I do not
■ay 80. I will not sacrifice my child to any prejudice." — Kotzbbue.
— iotJer»* Vows,

** Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man."

Shakspeabk. — Henry VI.

" Oh, how this spring of love resembleth
Th* uncertain glory of an April day ;
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by-and-by a cloud takes all away !"

Shakspbakb. — The Two Gentlemen of Verona.

When Maltravers was once more in his solitary apart-
ment, he felt as in a dream.^ He had obeyed an impulse,
irresistible perhaps, but one with which the conscience
of his heart was not satisfied. A voice whispered to
him, "frhou hast deceived her and thyself — thou dost
not love her!f In vain he recalled her beauty, her
grace, her genius, her singular and enthusiastic pas-
sion for himself — the voice still replied, " Thou dost
not love. Bid farewell for ever to thy fond dreams of a
life more blessed than that of mortals. From the
stormy sea of the future are blotted out eternally for
thee — Calypso and her Golden Isle. Thou canst no
more paint on the dim canvass of thy desires the form
of her with whom thou couldst dwell for ever. Thou
hast been unfaithful to thine own ideal ; thou hast given
thyself for ever and for ever to another ; thou hast re-
nounced hope ; thou must live as in a prison, with a
being with whom thou hast not the harmony of love." ^

" No matter," said Maltravers, almost alarmed, and
starting from these thoughts, " I am betrothed to one
who loves me ; it is folly and dishonour to repent and
to repine. I have gone through the best years of youth
without finding the Egeria with whom the cavern would
be sweeter than a throne. WJjy live to the grave a vain
and visionary Nympholept N Out of the real world
could I have made a nobler choice."

While Maltravers thus communed with himself Lady

THE daughter's DIPLOMACY. 119

Florence passed into her father's dressmg-room, and
there awaited his return from London. She knew his
worldly views — she knew also the pride of her affianced,
and she felt that she alone could mediate between the
two.

Lord Saxingham at last returned ; busy, bustling, im-
portant, and good-humoured as usual. " Well, Flory,
well 1 Glad to see you — quite blooming, I declare —
never saw you with such a colour — monstrous like me>
certainly. We always had fine complexions and fine
eyes in our family. But I'm rather late — first bell rung
— we ci'devant jeunes hommes are rather long dressing,
and you are not dressed yet, I see."

" My dearest father, I wish to speak with you -on a
matter of much importance."

" Do you ! What, immediately 1"

" Yes."

" Well— what is it 1 Your Slingsby property, I sup-
pose."

" No, my dear father— pray sit down and hear me
patiently."

Lord Saxingham began to be both alarmed and cu-
rious I he seated himself in silence, and looked anx-
iously in the face of his daughter.

" You have always been very indulgent to me," com-
menced Florence, with a half smile, " and I have had
my own way more than most young ladies. Believe
me, my dear father, I am most grateful, not only for
your aflection, but your esteem. I have been a strange
wild girl, but 1 am now about to reform ; and, as the first
step, I ask your consent to give myself a preceptor and
a guide — "

" A what !" cried Lord Saxingham.

" In other words, I am about to— to— well, the truth
must out — ^to marry."

" Has the Duke of **** been here to-day t"

" Not that I know of. But it is no duke to whom I
have promised my hand ; it is a nobler and a rarer dig-
nity that has caught my ambition. Mr. Maltravers
has—"

"Mr. Maltravers !— Mr. Devil!— the gurl's mad!—
don't talk to me, child, I won't consent to any such non-
sensQ. A country gentleman— very respectable, very
clever, and all that, but— it's no use talking— my mind's
made up. With your fortune, too !"

120 THE MARRIAGE AGREED TO.

" My dear father, I will not marry without your con-
sent, though my fortune is settled on me, and I am of
age."

" There's a good child — and now let me dress— we
shall be late."

" No, not yet," said Lady Florence, throwing her arm
caressingly round her father's neck — " I shall marry Mr.
Maltravers, but it will be with your full approval. Jost
consider ; if I married the Duke of ••♦*, he would ex-
pect all my fortune, such as it is. Ten thousand a year
IS at my disposal ; if I marry Mr. Maltravers, it will be
settled on you — I always meant it — it is a poor return
for your kindness, your indulgence ; but it will show
that your own Flory is not ungrateful."

" I won't hear."

" Stop — ^listen to reason. ¥ou are not rich ; yoU are
entitled but to a small pension if you ever resign of-
fice ; and your official salary, I have often heard you
say, does not prevent you from being embarrassed. To
whom should a daughter give from her superfluities
but to a parent ? from whom should a parent receive
but from a child, who can never repay his love ? Ah,
this is nothing ; but you — ^you, who have never crossed
her lightest whim — do not you destroy all the hopes of
happiness your Florence can ever fprm."

Florence wept, and Lord Saxingham, who was great-
ly moved, let fall a few tears also. Perhaps it is too
much to say that the pecuniary part of the proffered ar-
rangement entirely won him over ; but, still, the way it
was introduced softened his heart. He possibly thought
that it was better to have a good and grateful daughter
in a country gentleman's wife, than a sullen and thank-
less one in a duchess. However that may be, certain
it is, that before Lord Saxingham began his toilet, he

Eromised to make no obstacle to the marriage, and ajl
e asked in return was, that at least three months (but
that, indeed, the lawyers would require) should elapse
before it took place ; and on this understanding Flor-
ence left him, radiant and joyous as Flora herself when
the sun of spring makes the world a garden. Never
had she thought so little of her beauty, and never had
it seemed so glorious as that happy evening. But Mal-
travers was pale and thoughtful, and Florence in vain
sought his eyes during the dinner, which seemed to her
insufferably long. Afterward, however, they met, and

ALL ARAANOBO. 121

cimversed apart the rest of the evening ; and the beauty
of Florence began to produce upon Emest^s heart its
natural effect; and that evening — ah, how Florence
treasured the remembrance of every hour, every min-
ute of its annals !

It would have been amusing to see the short conver-
sation between Lord Saxingham and M aitravers when
the latter sought the earl at night in his lordship's room.
To Lord Saxinghsun's surprise, not a word did Maltrav-
ers utter of his own subordinate pretensions to Lady
Florence's hand. Coldly, dryly, and almost haughtily
did he make the formal proposals, '* as if" (as Lord Sax-
ingham afterward said to Ferrers) "the man were doing
me the highest possible honour in taking my daughter,
the beauty of London, with fifty thousand a year, off
my hands." But this was quite Maltravers ! If he had
been proposing to the daughter of a country curate,
without a sixpence, he would have been the hum-
blest of the humble. The earl was embarrassed and
discomposed; he was almost awed by the Siddons-
like countenance and Coriolanus-like air of his future
son-in-law ; he even hinted nothing of the compromise
as to time which he had made with his daughter. He
thought it better to leave it to Lady Florence to ar-
range , that matter. They shook hands frigidly, and
parted. M^travers went next into Cleveland's room,
and communicated all to the delighted old man, whose
congratulations were so fervid that Maltravers felt it
would be a sin not to fancy himself the happiest man in
the world. That night he wrote his refusal of the ap-
pointment offered him.

The next day Lord Saxingham went to his ofl5ce in
Downing-street as usual, and Lady Florence and Ernest
found an opportunity to ramble through the grounds
sdone.

There it was that occurred those confessions, sweet
alike to utter and to hear. Then did Florence speak
of her early years— of her self-formed and soUtary mind
— of her youthful dreams and reveries. Nothing around
her to excite interest or admiration, or the more roman-
tic, the higher, or the softer qualities of her nature, she
turned to contemplation and to books. It is the com-
bination of the faculties with the affections, exiled from
action, and finding no worldly vent, which produces
poetry, the child of passion and of thought. Hence,

Vol. II.— L

122 RSVISW OF THE PAST.

before the real cares of existence claim them, the yoong,
who are abler yet lonelier than their fellows, are near-
ly always poets : and Florence was a poetess. 1b
minds like this, the first book that seems to imbody
and represent their own most cherished and beloved
trains of sentiment and ideas, ever creates a reveren-
tial and deep enthusiasm. The lonely, and proud, and
melancholy soul of M altravers, which made itself visi-
ble in all his creations, became to Florence like a re-
vealer of the secrets of her own nature. She conceived
an intense and mysterious interest in the man whose
mind exercised so pervading a power over her own.
She made herself acquainted with his pursuits, his ca-
reer ; she fancied she found a symmetry and harmony
between the actual being and the breathing genius ; she
imagined she understood what seemed dark and ob-
scure to others. He whom she had never seen, grew
to her a never-absent friend. His ambition, his repo-
tation, were to her like a possession of her own. So
at length, in the folly of her young romance, she wrote
to him, and, dreaming of no discovery, anticipating no
result, the habit once indulged became to her that
luxury which writing for the eye of the world is to an [
author oppressed with the burden of his own thoughts.
At length she saw him, and he did not destroy her illu-
sion. She might have recovered from the spell if she
had found him ready at once to worship at her shrine.
The mixture of reserve and frankness — frankness of
language, reserve of manner — which belonged to Mal-
travers, piqued her. Her vanity became the auxiliary
to her imagination. At length they met at Cleveland's
house; their intercourse became more unrestrained;
their friendship was established, and she discovert
that she had wilfully impUcated her happiness in in-
dulging her dreams ; yet even then she believed that
Maltravers loved her, despite his silence upon the sub-
ject of love. His manner, his words bespoke his in-
terest in her, and his voice was ever soft when he spoke
to women, for he had much of the old chivalric re-
spect and tenderness for the sex. What was general
it was natural that she should apply individually ; alie
who had walked the world but to fascinate and to con-
quer. It was probable that her great wealth and social
position imposed a check on the delicate pride of Mal-
travers — she hoped so — she believed it-— yet she felt

A tAKBSCAt^fi. 123

her danger, and her own pride at last took alarm. In
Buch a moment she had resumed the character of the un-
known correspondent — she had written to Maltravers —
addressed her letter to his own house, and meant the
next day to have gone to London, and had it sent, know-
ing that thence it would soon reach him. In this letter
she had spoken of his visit to Cleveland, of his position
with herself. She exhorted him, if he loved her, to
confess, and, if not, to fly. She had written artfully
and eloquently ; she was desirous of expediting her own
fate ; and then, with that letter in her bosom, she had
met Maltravers, and the reader has learned the rest.
Something of all this the blushing and happy Florence.
now revealed; and when she ended with uttering the
woman's soft fear that she had been too bold, is it
wonderful that Maltravers, clasping her to his bosom,
felt the gratitude and the deUghted vanity which seemed
even to himself like love % And into love those feelings
rapidly and deUciously will merge, if fate and accident
permit !

And now they were by the side of the water, and the
snn was gently setting as on the eve before. It was
about the same hour, the fairest of an autumn day ;
none were near ; the slope of the hill hid the house
from their view. Had they been in the desert they
could not have been more alone. It was not silence
that breathed around them as they sat on that bench,
with the broad beech spreading over them its trembling
canopy of leaves ; but those murmurs of living nature
which are sweeter than silence itself — the songs of birds
— the tinkling bell of the sheep on the opposite bank — the
wind sighing through the trees, and the gentle heaving
of the glittering waves that washed the odorous reed and
water-lily at their feet. They had both been for some
moments silent, and Florence now broke the pause, but
in tones more low than usual.

" Ah !" said she, turning towards him, " these hours
are happier than we can find in that crowded world
whither your destiny must call us. For me, ambition
seems for ever at an end. I have found all ; I am no
longer haunted with the desire of gaining a vague some-
thing — a shadowy empire, that we call fame or power.
The sole thought that disturbs the calm current of my
soul is the fear to lose a particle of the rich possession
I have gained.''

184 DOUBTS AND PRE8BNTIMENT8.

" May your fears ever be as idle/'

'* And you really love me. I repeat to myself erer
and ever that one phrase. I could once have borne to
lose you, now it would be my death. I despaired of
ever being loved for myself; my wealth was a fatal
dower ; I suspected avarice in every vow, and saw the
base world lurk at the bottom of every heart that of-
fered itself at my shrine. But you, Ernest — you, I feel,
never could weigh gold in the balance ; and you, if you
love, love me for myself."

" And I shall love thee more with every hour." '-i*^

'* I know not that : I dread that you will love me less
when you know me more. I fear I shall seem to yon
exacting — I am jealous already. I was jealous even of

Lady T , when I saw you by her side this morning.

I. would have your every look, monopolize your every
word."

This confession did not please Maltravers as it might
have done if he had been more deeply in love. Jeal-
ousy in a woman of so vehement and imperious a na-
ture was indeed a passion to be dreaded.

" Do not say so, dear Florence," said he, with a very
grave smile ; '^ for love should have implicit confidence
as its bond knd nature ; and jealousy is doubt, and doubt
is the death of love."

A shade passed over Florence's too eiqiressive face,
and she signed heavily.

It was at this time that Maltravers, raising his eyes,
saw the form of Lumley Ferrers approaching towards
them from the opposite end of the terrace ; at the same
instant a dark cloud crept over the sky, the waters
seemed overcast, and the breeze fell ; a chill and strange

Eresentiment of evil shot across Ernest's heart, and,
ke many imaginative persons, he was unconsciously
superstitious as to presentiments.

" We are no longer alone," said he, rising ; « your
cousin has doubtless learned our engagement, and comes
to congratulate your suiter."

" Tell me," he continued, musingly, as they walked
on to meet Ferrers, " are you very partial to Lumley t
What think you of his character 1 It is one that per-
plexes me ; sometimes I think that it has changed since
we parted in Italy ; sometimes I think that it has not
changed, but ripened."

'* Lumley I have known from a child," rephed Flor-

noNotJRS. 125

ence, " and see much to admire and like in him ; I ad-
mire his boldness and candour ; his scorn of the world's
littleness and falsehood; I like his good nature, his
gayety, and fancy his heart better than it may seem to
the superficial observer."

" Yet he appears to me sejfish and unprincipled."

** It is from a fine contempt for the vices and follies
of men that he has contracted the habit of consulting
his own resolute will ; and, believing everything done
in this noisy stage of action a cheat, he has accommo-
dated his ambition to the fashion. Though without
what is termed genius, he will obtain a distinction and
power that few men of genius arrive at."

" Because genius is essentially honest," ssdd Maltrav-
ers. " However, you teach me to look on him more
indulgently. I suspect the real frankness of men whom
I know to be hypocrites in pubhc life, but perhaps I
judge by too harsh a standard."

*' Third persons," said Ferrers, as he now joined
them, " are seldom unwelcome in the country ; and I
flatter myself that I am the exact thing wanting to com-
plete the charm of this beautiful landscape,"

" You are ever modest, my cousin."

"It is my weak side, I know; but I shall improve
with years and wisdom. Ce cher Maltrnvers, et comr
tnent se va .?" and Ferrers passed his arm affectionately
through Ernest's.

"By-the-by, I am too familiar; I am sunk in the
world. I am a thing to be sneered at by you old family
people. I am next heir to a bran new Brummagem
peerage. Gad, I feel brassy already."

" What, is Mr. Templeton— "

" Mr. Templeton no more ; he is defunct, extinguished
—out of the ashes rises the phcenix Lord Vargrave.
We had thought of a more sounding title ; De Courval
has a nobler sound ; but my good uncle has nothing of
the Norman about him, so we dropped the De as ridic-
ulous; Vargrave is euphonious and appropriate. My
uncle has a manor of that name — Baron Vargrave oi
Vargrave."

" Ah ! I cqngratulate you."

" Thank you. Lady Vargrave may destroy all my
hopes yet. But, nothing venture, nothing have. My
uncle will be gazetted to-day. Poor man, he will be
delighted ; and, as be certainly owes it much to me, he

126 lumley's abdeess to Florence.

will, I suppose, be very grateful, or hate me ever after*
ward — that is a toss up. A benefit conferred is a com-
plete hazmrd between the thumb of pride and the fore-
finger of affection. Heads gratitude, tails hatred.
There, that^s a simile in the fashion of the old writers ;
•Well of EngUsh undefiled !' humph !"

" So that beautiful child is Mrs. Templeton's, or rather
Lady Yargrave^s daughter, by a former marriage V^ said
Maltravers, abstract^ly.

" Yes, it is astonishing how fond he is of her. Pretty
little creatpre— confoumledly artful, though. By-the-
way, Maltravers, we had an unexpectedly stormy night
the last of the session — strong division — ministers hard
pressed. I made quite a good speech for them. I sup-
pose, however, there will be some change — ^the moder*
ates will be taken in. Perhaps, by next session, I may
congratulate you."

Ferrers looked hard at Maltravers while he spoke;
but Ernest replied coldly and evasively, and they were
now joined by a party of idlers, lounging along the lawn
in expectation of the first dinner-bell. Cleveland was
in high consultation about the proper spot for a new
fountain; and he summoned Maltravers to give his
opinion whether it should spring from the centre of a
flower-bed or beneath the drooping shade of a large
willow. While this interesting discussion was going
on, Ferrers drew aside his cousin, and, pressing her hand
affectionately, said, in a soft and tender voice,

" My dear Florence^-for in such a time permit me to
be familiar — I understand from Lord Saxingham, whom
I met in London, that you are engaged to Maltravers.
Busy as I was, I could not rest without coming hither
to offer my best and most earnest wishes for your hap-
piness. I may seem a careless, I am considered a sel-
fish person ; but my heart is warm to those who really
interest it. And never did brother offer up for the wel-
fare of a beloved sister prayers more anxious and fond
than those that poor Lumley Ferrers breathes for Flor-
ence Lascelles."

Florence was startled and melted ; the whole tone
and maimer of Lumley were so different from those he
usually assumed. She warmly returned the pressure
of his hand, and thanked him briefly, but with emotion.

" No one is great and good enough for you, Florence,"
continued Ferrrers, *' no one. But I admire your disin-

Air UNFCmTUNATE CHARACTER. 127

terested and generous choice. Maltravers and I hare
not Men friends lately ; but I respect him, as all must.
He has noble quaUties, and he has great ambitipn. In
addition to the deep and ardent love that you cannot
fail to inspire, he will owe you eternal gratitude. In
this aristocratic country, your hand secures to him the
tnost brilliant fortunes, the most proud career, flis tal-
ents will now be measured by a very different standard.
His merits will not pass through any subordinate grades,
bat leap at once into the highest posts ; and, as he is
eren more proud than ambitious, how he must bless
one who raises him at once into positions of eminent
command !"

" Oh, he does not think of such worldly advantages-—
he, the too pure, the too refined !" said Florence, with
trembling eagerness. ''He has no avarice, nothing
mercenary in his nature !"

" No ; there you indeed do him justice ; there is not
a particle of baseness in his mind ; I did not say there
WHS. The very greatness of his aspirations, his indig-
nant and scornful pride, lift him above the thought of
your wealth, your rank, except as means to an end."

''You mistake still," said Florence, faintly smiling,
but turning pale.

" No;" resumed Ferrers, nol- appearing to hear her,
and as if pursuing his own thoughts,, '' I always pre-
dicted that Maltravers wolild make a distinguished con-
nexion in marriage. He would not permit hiilself to
love the lowborn or the poor. His affections are in his
pride as much as in his heart. He is a great creature
-»-you have judged wisely — and may God bless you !"

With these words Ferrers left her, and Florence,
when she descended to dinner, wore a moody and
clouded brow. Ferrers stayed three days at the house.
He was peculiarly cordial to Maltravers, and spoke Ut-
tle to Florence. But that little never failed to leave
upon her mind a jealous and anxious irritability, to
which she yielded with morbid facility. In order per-
fectly to understand Florence Lascelles, it must be re-
membered, that with all her dazzling qualities, she was
not what is called a loveable person. A certain hard-
ness in her disposition, even as a child, had prevented
her winding into the hearts of those around her. De-
prived of her mother's care — having little or no in-
tercourse with children of her own age— brought up

128 I.UMLEY WORKS VPON IT.

•

with a starched goveraess, or female relations, poor aaid
proud, she never had contracted the softness of man-
ner which the reciprocation of household aifectioiis
usually produces. With a haughty consciousness of
her powers, her birth, her position, advantages alwa3r8
dinned into her ear, she grew up solitary, unsocial, and
imperi#us. Her father was rather proud than fond o!
her ; her servants did not love her ; she had too little
consideration for others, too little blandness and suav-
ity, to be loved by inferiors ; she was too learned and
too stem to find pleasure in the conversation and soci-
ety of young ladies of her own age : she had no friends.
Now, having really strong affections, she felt all this,
but rather with resentment than grief; she longed to be
loved, but did not seek to be so ; she felt as if it wasi
her fate not to be loved ; she blamed fate, not herself.

When, with all the proud, pure, and generous candour
of her nature, she avowed to Ernest her love for him,
she naturally expected the most ardent and passionate
return ; nothing less could content her. But the habit
and experience of all the past made her eternally su^
picious that she was not loved ; it was wormwood and
poison to her to fancy that Maltravers had ever consid-
ered her advantages of fortune, except as a bar to his
pretensions and a cheok on his passion. It was the
same thing to h^ whether it was the pettiest avarice
or the loftiest aspirations that* actuated her lover, if he
had he^ actuated in his heart by any sentiment hut
lQ#e ; and Ferrers, to whose eye her foibles were fa-
miliar, knew well how to make his praises of Ernest
arouse against Ernest all her exacting jealousies and
irritable doubts.

*' It is strange,*' said he, one evening, as he was con-
versing with Florence, " how complete and triumphant
a conquest you have effected over Emefit. WiU you
believe it, he took a prejudice against you when he first
saw you ; he even said that you were made to be ad-
mired, not to be loved."

" Ha ! did he so ? True, true— he has almost said the
same thing to me."

" But, now, how he must love you ] Surely he has all
the signs."

" And what are the signs, most learned Lumley T
said Florence, forcing a smile.

" Why, in the fiist place, you will doubtless observe

lovers' quarrels. 129

that he never takes his eyes from yon — \eith whomso-
ever he conyerses, whatever his occupation, those eyes,
restless and pining, wander around for one glance from
you."

Florence sighed and looked up ; at the other end of,
the room her lover was conversing with Cleveland, and
his eyes never wandered in search of her.

Ferrers did not seem to notice this practical contra-
diction of his theory, but went on.
^ *' Then, surely, his whole character is changed ; that
brow has lost its calm majesty, that deep voice its as-
sured and tranquil tone. Has he not become humble,
and embarrassed, and fretful, living only on your smile,
reproachful if you look upon another — sorrowful if your
lip be less smiUng — a thing of doubt, and dread, and
trembling agitation — slave to a shadow — ^no longer lord
^ of the creation 1 Such is love — such is the love you in-
i^ire — such is the love Maltravers is capable of, for I
have seen him testify it to another. But," added Lum-
ley,jquickly, and as if afraid he had said too much,
'* Loni Saxingham is looking out for me to make up
his whist-table? I go to-morrow — when shall you be in
town?"

" In the course of the week," said poor Florence,
mechanically ; and Lumley walked away.

In another minute Maltravers, who had been more
observant than he seemed, joined her where she sat.

" Dear Florence," said he, tenderly, " you look pale ;
I fear you are not so well this evening."

" No affectation of an interest you do not feel, pray,"
said Florence, with a scornful lip but swimming eyes.
^ " Do not feel, Florence !"

'* It is the first time, at least, that you have observed
whether I am well or ill. But it is no matter."

" My dear Florence, why this tone ; how have I
offended you 1 Has Lumley said — "

" Nothmg but in your praise. Oh, be not afraid, you
are one of those of whom all speak highly. But do
not let me detain you here ; let us join our host — ^you
have left him alone."

Lady Florence waited for no reply, nor did Maltravers
attempt to detain her. He looked pained, and when
she turned round to catch a glai^ce that she hoped
would be reproachful, he was gone. Lady Florence
became nervous and uneasy, talked she knew not what,*

130 LOViRS^ QUARRELS.

and laughed h3rBteric&lly. She, however, deceived
Cleveland into the notion that she was in the best pos-
sible spirits.

By-and-by she rose and passed through the suite of
rooms : her heart was with M altravers, stiU he was not
visible. At length she entered the conservatory, and
there she observed him, through the open casements,
walking slowly, and with folded arms, upon the moon-
lighted lawn. There was a short struggle in her breast
between woman^s pride and woman's love; the last
conquered, and she joined him.

" Forgive me, Ernest," she said, extending her hand,
" I was to blame."

Ernest kissed the fair hand, and answered, touch-
ingly,

" Florence, you have the power to wound me, be for-
bearing in its exercise. Heaven knows that I would
not, from the vain desire of showing command over
you, inflict upon you a single pang. Ah ! do not fancy
that in lovers' quarrels there is any sweetness that
compensates the sting."

" I told you I was too exacting, Ernest. I told you
you would not love me so well when you knew me
better."

" And were a false prophetess. Florence, every day,
every hour 1 love you more — ^better than I once thought
I could."

" Then," cried this wayward girl, anxious to pain her-
self, " then once you did not love me."

"Florence, I will be candid — I did not. You are
now rapidly obtaining an empire over me greater than
my reason should allow. But, beware : if my love be f
really a possession you desire, beware how you arm
my reason against you. Florence, I am a proud man.
My very consciousness of the more splendid alliances
you could form renders me less humble a lover than
you might find in others. I were not worthy of you if
I were not tenacious of my self-respect."

" Ah," said Florence, to whose heart these woids
went home, " forgive me but this once. I shall not for-
give myself so soon."

And Ernest drew her to his heart, and felt that, with
all her faults, a woman whom he feared he could not
render as happy as her sacrifices to him deserved was
becoming verv dear to him. In his heart he knew that

k CT7RSED BORE. 131

»he was not formed to render him happy ; but that was
not his thouglit, his fear. Her love had rooted out all
thought of self frpm that generous breast. His only
anxiety was to requite her.

They walked along the sward, silent, thoughtful ; and
JPlorence melancholy, yet blessed.
^ " That serene heaven, those lovely stars," said Mal-
travers at last, " do they not preach to us the philosophy
of peace ? Do they not tell us how much of calm be-
longs to the dignity of man, and the sublime essence
of the soul % Petty distractions and self- wrought cai'es
are not congenial to our real nature ; their very dis-
turbance is a proof that they are at war with our na-
tures. Ah, sweet Florence, let us learn from yon skies,
over which, the old Greek poetry believed, brooded
the wings of primeval and serenest love, what earthly
love should be ; a thing pure as hght and peaceful as
immortality, watching over the stormy world that it
shall survive, and high above the clouds and vapours
that roll below. Let little minds introduce into the
holiest of affections all the bitterness and tumult of
common life ! Let tis love as beings who will one day ^
be inhabitants of the stars !"

CHAPTER IV.

" A slippery and subtle knave ; a finder out of occasions ; that has
an eye can stamp and counterfeit advantages." — Othello.

** Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.'*

Ibid,

" You see, my dear Lumley," said Lord Saxingham,
as the next day the two kinsmen were on their way to
London in the earPs chariot, " you see, that, at the best,
this marriage of Flory's is a cursed bore."

" Why, indeed, it has its advantages. Maltravers is a
gentleman and a man of genius; but gentlemen are
plentiful, and his genius only tells against us, since he
18 not even of our politics."

" Exactly; my oNvn son-in-law voting against me !"

" A practical, reasonable man would change : not so

132 A HOPB FOR LUMLBT.

Maltravers; and all the estates, and all the parliament-
ary influence, and all the wealth that ought to go with
the family and with the party, go out of the family and
against the party. You are quite right, my dear lord
— it is a cursed bore."

" And she might have had the Duke of *•**, a man
with the rental of 100,000/. a year; it is too ridiculous;
this Maltravers, d — d disagreeable fellow, too, eh V

" Stiff and stately — much changed for the worse of
late years — grown conceited and set up."

" Do you know, Lumley, I would rather, of the two,
have had you for my son-in-law."

Lumley half started. " Are you serious, my lord t I
have not Ernest's fortune ; I cannot make such settle-
ments ; my lineage, too, at least on my mother's side,
is less ancient."

"Oh, as to settlements, Flory's fortune ought to be
settled on herself ; as for family, connexions tell more
nowadays than Norman descent ; and for the rest, you
are likely to be old Templeton's heir, to have a peerage
(a large sum of ready money is always useful), are rising
in the house ; one of our set ; will soon be in ofllce ; and,
flattery apart, a devilish good fellow into the bargain.
Oh, I would sooner a thousand times that Flory had
taken a fancy to you !"

Lumley Ferrers bowed his head, but said nothing. He
fell into a revery, and Lord Saxingham took up his of-
ficial red box, became deep in its contents, and forgot
all about the marriage of his daughter.

Lumley pulled the check-string as the carriage en-
tered Pall Mall, and desired to be set down at the
" Travellers'." While Lord Saxingham was borne on
to settle the affairs of the nation, not being able to set-
tle those of his own household, Ferrers was inquiring
the address of Castruccio Caesarini. The porter was
unable to give it him. The signer generally called
every day for his notes, but no one at the club knew
where he lodged. Ferrers wrote, and left with the por-
ter a line requesting Caesarini to call on him as soon as
possible, and bent his way to his house in Great George-
street. He went straight into his Ubrary, unlocked his
escritoire, and took out that letter which, the reader
will remember, Maltravers had writt^ to Caesarini, and
which Lumley had secured ; carefully did he twice read
over this efliision, and the second time his face bright-

A LBTTXB. 13S

ened and his eyes sparlded. It is |iow time to lay this
letter before the reader; it ran thus: —

" Private and confiderUidL^

'' Mt dear Cjesarini,
**The assurance of your friendly feelings is most
welcome to me. In much of what you say of marriage,
I am inclined, though with reluctance, to agree. As to
Lady Florence herself, few persons are more calculated
to dazzle, perhaps to fascinate. But is she a person
to make a home happy — ^to sympathize where she has
been accustomed to command — ^to comprehend, and to
yield to the wa3rwardnes8 and irritability common to
our imaginative and morbid race — to content herself
with the homage of a single heart? I do not know
her enough to decide the question; but I know her
enough to feel deep solicitude and anxiety for your
happiness if centred in a nature so imperious and so
vain. But you will remind me of her fortune, her sta-
tion. You will WLj that such are the- sources from
which, to an ambitious mind, happiness may well be
drawn. Alas ! I fear that the man who marries Lady
Florence must indeed confine his dreams of felicity to
those harsh and disappointing realities. But, Ca^sarini,
these are not the words which, were we more intimate,
I would address to you. I doubt the reality of those
affections which you ascribe to her, and suppose devo-
ted to yourself. She is evidently fond of conquest.
She sports with the victims she makes. Her vanity
plays with those of our sex — it will dupe her at last-
but you must not yet believe that the time is come.
Let me caution you to discreUon, for your own sake.
I will not say more to you.

"Yours,

" E. Maltiulwbs."

** Hurrah !" cried Ferrers, as he threw down the let-
ter and rubbed his hands with delight. " I little thought,
when I schemed for this letter, that chance would make
it so inestimably serviceable. There is less to alter
than I thought for ; the clumsiest botcher in the world
could manage it. Let me look again. Hem, hem— -the
first phrase to alter is this : < I know her enough to
feel deep soUcitude and anxiety for your happiness if

Vol. II.— M

134 THE PENKNIFB AND VISITER.

centred in a nature so imperious and vain'— scratch
out ' your' and put ' my.' All the rest good, good, till
we come to * aflfections which you ascribe to her and
suppose devoted to yourself^ — for 'yot/rself write * my-
self ' — ^the rest will do. Now, then, the date, we must
change it to the present month, and the work is done.
I wish that Italian blockhead would come. If I can
but once make an irreparable breach between hefr and
Maltravers, I think I cannot fail of securing his place;
her pique, her resentment, will hurry her into taking
the first who offers, by way of revenge. And, by Jupi-
ter, even if I fail (which I am sure I shall not), it will
be something to keep Flory as lady paramount for a
duke of our oWn party. I shall gain immensely by such
a connexion ; but I lose everything and gain nothing by
her marrying Maltravers — of opposite politics, too—
whom I begin to hate like poison. But no duke shaU
have her ; Florence Ferrers, the only alliteration I ever
liked ; yet it would sound rough in poetry."

Lumley then deliberately drew towards him his ink-
stand. " No penknife — ah, true, I never mend pens-
sad waste — ^must send out for one." He rang the bell,
ordered a penknife to be purchased, ^.nd the servant [
was still out when a knock at the door was heard, and
in a minute more Cssarini entered.

** Ah," said Lumley, assuming a melancholy air, ** I
am glad that you are arrived ; you will excuse my hav-
ing written to vou so unceremoniously. You received
my note — sit down, pray — and how are you — ^you look
delicate — can I offer you anything V

" Wine," said Caesarini, laconically, " wine — ^your cli-
mate requires wine."

Here the servant entered with the penknife, and was
ordered to bring wine and sandwiches. Lumley then
conversed lightly on different matters till the wme ap-
peared; he was rather surprised to observe Cajsarini
pour out and drink off glass upon glass, with an evident
craving -for the excitement. When he had satisfied
himself, he turned his dark eyes to Ferrers and said-
" You have news to communicate, I see it in your brow.
I am now ready to hear all."

" Well, then, listen to me ; you were right in your
suspicions ; jeaiousy is ever a true diviner. I make no
doubt Othello was quite right, and Desdemona was do

HEAT AND COLD. 135

better than she should be. Maltravers has proposed to
my cousin, and been accepted.''

Ca^arini's complexion grew perfectly ghastly; his
whole frame shook like a leaf ; for a moment he seemed
paralyzed.

'' Curse him !'' said he, at last, drawing a deep breath
and between his grinded teeth ; " curse him &om the
depths of the heart he has broken !"

" And after such a letter to you ; do you remember
k 1 here it is. He warns you against Lady Florence,
and then secures her to himself ; is this treachery V-

" Treachery, black as hell. I am an Itahan," cried
Caesahni, springing to his feet, and with all the passions
of his climate in his face, ''and I will be avenged.
Bankrupt in fortune, ruined in hopes, blasted in heart,
I have still the godlike consolation of the desperate — I
have revenges."

"Will you call him out?" asked Lumley, musingly
and calmly. " Are you a dead shot 1 If so, it is worth
thinking about; if not, it is a mockery; your shot
misses — his goes in the air — seconds interpose, and
you both walk away devilish glad to get off so well.
Duels are humbugs."

** Mr. Ferrers," said Caesahni, fiercely, " this is not a
matter of jest."

" I do not make it a jest ; and, what is more, Caesari-
ni," said Ferrers, with a concentrated energy far more
commanding than the Italian's fury, " what is more, I
80 detest Maltravers, I am so stung by his cold superi-
ority, so wroth with his success, so loathe the thought of
his alliance, that I would cut off this hand to frustrate
that marriage. I do not jest, man ; but I have method
and sense in my hatred — it is our English way."

Caesahni stared at the speaker gloomily ; clinched
his hand, muttered, and strode rapidly to and fro the
room.

"You would be avenged, so would I. Now what
shall be the means V said Ferrers.

" I will stab him to the heart — ^I will — "

" Cease these tragic flights. Nay, frown and stamp
not ; but sit down and be reasonable, or leave me and
act for yourself."

''Sir,*' said Caesahni, with an eye that might have
alarmed a man less resolute than Ferrers, " have a eare
bow you presume on my distress."

186 HBAT AND COLD.

" You are in distress, and you refuse relief j you are
bankrupt in fortune, and you rave like a poet when you
should be devising and plotting for the attainment of
boundless wealth. Revenge and ambition may both be
yours, but they are prizes never won but by a cantiouB
foot as well as a bold hand."

'* What would you have me do 1— and what but his
life will content me ?"

" Take his life if you can — I have no objection— go
and take it ; only just observe this, that if you miss
your aim, or he, being the stronger man, strike you down,
you will be locked up in 3 madhouse for the next year
or two at least, and that is not the place in which /
should like to pass the winter — ^but as you will."

" You ! — ^you ! But what are you to me t I will go
—good-day, sir."

*' Stay a moment," said Ferrers, when he saw Csesar-
ini about to leave the room; ''stay — ^take this chair,
and listen to me ; you had better — "

Csesarini hesitated, and then, as it were, mechanically
obeyed.

'' Read that letter which Maltravers wrote to you.
You have finished ; well — ^now observe, if Florence
sees that letter, she will not and cannot marry the man
who wrote it ; you must show it to her."

*' Ah, my ^ardian angel, I see it all ! ye^, there are
words in this letter no woman so proud could ever
pardon. Give it me again ; I will go at once."

" Pshaw ! you are too quick ; you have not remarked
that this letter was written five months ago, before Mal-
travers knew much of Lady Florence. He himself
has confessed to her that he did not then love her; so
much the more would she value the conquest she has
now achieved. Florence would smile at this letter, and
say, * Ah, he judges me difierently now !' "

"Are you seeking to madden mel What do you
mean ? Did you not just now say that, did she see that
letter, she would never marry the writer 1"

" Yes, yes, but the letter must be altered. We must
erase the date — ^we must date it from to-day :— -to-day
— Maltravers returns to-day. We must suppose it writ-
ten, not in answer to a letter from you, demanding his
advice and opinion as to pour marriage with Lady Flor-
ence, but in answer to a letter of yours, in which you
congratulate him on his approaching marriage to her.

HEAT AND COLD. 137

By the substitution of one pronoun for another in two
places, the letter will read as well one way as anoth-
er. Read it again and see — or, stop — I will be the lec-
turer."

Here Ferrers read over the letter, which, by the tri-
fling substitutions he proposed, might indeed bear the
character he wished to give to it.

"The caution at the close as to discretion may be
I interpreted," said Ferrers, as he concluded, "into an in-
junction of secresy and silence respecting this private
and confidential letter. Does the light break in upon
you now ? Are you prepared to go through a part that
requires subtlety, delicacy, address, and, above all, self-
control; qualities that are the common attributes of
your countrymen."

" I will do all — fear me not. It may be villanous, it
may be base ; but I care not, Maltravers shall not rival,
; master, eclipse me in all things."

" Where are you lodging V

** Where ! out of town a little way."

** Take up your home with me for a few days. ' I
cannot trust you ouC of my sight. Send for your lug-
gage ; I have a rooftn at your service."

Caesarini at first refused ; but a man who resolves
on a crime feels the awe of solitude and the necessity
of a companion. He went himself to bring his effects,
and promised to return to dinner.

" I must own," said Lumley, resettling himself at
his desk, " this is the dirtiest trick that ever I played ;
but the glorious end sanctifies the paltry means. After
all, it is the mere prejudice of gentleman-like education.
So now for you, Master Maltravers !"

A very few seconds, and with the aid of the knife to
erase and the pen to rewrite, Ferrers completed his
task, with the exception of the change of date, which,
on second thoughts, he reserved as a matter to be reg-
ulated by circumstances.

" I think I have hit off his m's and y's tolerably," said
he, " considering I was not brought up to this sort of
thing. But the alteration would be visible on close in-
spection. CaBsarini must read the letter to her ; then, if
sne glances over it herself, it will be with bewildered
eyes and a dizzy brain. Above all, he must not leave
it with her, and must bind her to the closest secresy.

A W

1S8 Al'Pi VPOH ALPS.

She is honourable, and will keep her word ; and, so, now
that matter is settled. I have just time before dinner
to canter down to my uncle's and wish the old fellow

Joy."

CHAPTER V.

" And then my lord has much that he would state
All good to yon.**

Cbabbb's Tales qf tht Heart.

Lord Vargrayb was sitting alone in his library, with
his account-books before him. Carefully did he cast
up the various sums which, invested in various specula-
tions, swelled his income. The result seemed satis-
factory, and the rich man threw down his pen with an
air of triumph. ** I will invest 120,000/. in landr-only
130,000/. I will not be tempted to sink more. I will
have a fine house — a house fitting for a nobleman — ^a
fine old Elizabethan house — a house of historical inter-
est. I must have woods and lakes — and a deer-park,
above all. Deer are very gentleman-like things — very.
De Clifibrd's place is to be sold, I know ; they ask too
much for it ; but ready money is tempting. 1 can bar-
ffain — ^Iraurgain, I am a good hand at a bargain. Should
I now be Lord Baron Vargrave if I had always given
people what they asked 1 I will double my subscrip-
tions to the Bible Society, and the Philanthropic, and
the building of new churches. The worid shall not say
Richard Templeton does not deserve his greatness. I
will— come in. Who's there 1 Come in."

The door gently opened ; the meek face of the new
peeress appeared. " I disturb you — I beg your pardon

" Come in, my dear, come in — I want to talk to you
"^I want to talk to your ladyship — sit down, pray."

Lady Vargrave obeyed.

'' You see," said the peer, crossing his legs and cares-
sing his left foot with both hands, while he seesawed his
stately body to and fro in his chair — ^* you see that the
honour conferred upon me will make a great change in
our mode of life, Mrs. Temple—, I mean Lady Var-

1LP8 VPOK ALPS. 189

^ve. This villa is all very well — ^my country house
IS not amiss for a country gentleman — ^but now, we
must support our rank, llie estate I have will go with
the title — go to Lumley — I shall buy another at my
own disposal, one that I can feel thoroughly mine-^ii
shall be a splendid place, Lady Vargrave/"

'* This place is splendid to me," said Lady Vargraye,
timidly.

** This place, nonsense—you must learn loftier ideas,
Lady Vargrave; you are young, you can easily con-
tract new habits, more easily, perhaps, than myself;
you are naturally ladylike, though I say it ; you have
p[ood taste, you don't tadk much, you don't show your
Ignorance — quite right. You must be presented at
court, Lady Vargrave — we must give great dinners,
Lady Vargrave. Balls are sinful, so is the opera, at
least I fear so — ^yet an opera-box would be a proper ap-
pendage to your rank, Lady Vargrave."
" My dear Mr. Templeton— "
" Lord Vargrave, if your ladyship pleases."
" I beg pardon. May you live long to enjoy your
honours ; but I, my dear lord — ^I am not fit to share
them ; it is only in our quiet life that I can forget what
— what I was. You terrify me when you talk of court
—of—"

" Stuff, Lady Vargrave, stuff; we accustom ourselves
to these things. Do / look like a man who has stood
behind a counter 1 rank is a glove that stretches to the
hand that wears it. And the child, dear child — dear
Evelyn, she shall be the admiration of London, the
beauty, the heiress, the—oh, she will do us honour !"

''She will, she will," said Lady Vargrave, and the
tears gushed frou) her eyes.

Loii Varpprave was softened ; he rose from his chair,
took his wife's hand, and kissed her forehead affec-
tionately.

'* No mother ever deserved more from a child than
you from Evelyn."

" I would hope I have done my duty," said Lady Var-
grave, dr3dng her tears.

" Papa, papa !" cried an impatient voice, tapping at
the window, " come and play, papa — come and play at
ball, papa."

And there by the window stood that beautiful child,
glowing with health and mirth, her light hair toss«4

140 '^YOV SHALL IN YOUR GIRLS BE COURTED.''

from her forehead, her sweet mouth dimpled with
smiles.

" My daHing, go on the lawn — don't overexert your-
self — you have not quite recovered that horrid sprain—
I will join you immediately — bless you !"

" Don't be long, papa — ^nobody plays so nicely as you
do ;" and, nodding and laughing from very glee, away
scampered the young fairy.

Lord Vargrave turned to his wife.

" What think you of my nephew — of Lumley V said
he, abruptly.

" He seems all that is amiable, frank, and kind."

Lord Vargrave's brow became thoughtful. " I think
so too," he said, after a short pause, " and I hope you
will approve of what I mean to do. You see, my dear,
Lumley was brought up to regard himself as my heir;
I owe something to him beyond the poor estate which
goes with, but never can adequately support my tiUe.
Family honours, hereditary rank, must be properly re-
garded. But that dear girl — 1 shall leave her the bulk
of my fortune. Could we not unite the fortune and the
title 1 it would secure the rank to her ; it would incorpo-
rate all my desires, all my duties."

"But," said Lady Vargrave, with evident surprise,
" if 1 underhand you rightly, the disparity of years—"

** And what then, what then, Lady Vargrave 1 Is there
no disparity of years between us — a greater disparity
than between Lumley and that tall girl? Lumley is a
mere youth, a youth still, five-and-thirty — he will be little
more than forty when they marry ; I was between fifty
and sixty when I married you,. Lady Vargrave, and I
flatter myself I have made you an excellent husband."

" Indeed, yes ; but still — "

" I donH Uke boy and girl marriages : a man should
be older than his wife. But you are so romantic, Lady
Vargrave. Besides, Lumley is so gay and good-look-
ing, and wears so well. He has been very nearly form-
ing another attachment ; but that, I trust, is out of his
head now. They must like each other. You will not
gainsay me. Lady Vargrave, and if anything happens to
me — ^life is uncertain."

" Oh, do not speak so, my friend, my benefactor!"

" Why, indeed," resumed his lordship, mildly, " thank
Heaven, I am very well — feel younger than ever I did
^—but still, life is uncertain — and, if you survive me,

ORBAT TIBW8 AND LITTLE WIVES. 141

you will not throw obstacles in the way of my grand
scheme t"

" I — ^no, no ; you have the right in all things over her
destiny ; but so young — ^so soft-hearted, if she should
love one of her own years — "

" Love — pooh ! love does not come into girls' heads
miless it is put there. We will bring her up to love
Lumley. I have another reason — a cogent one — our
secret ! to him it can be confided — it should not go out
of our family. Even in my grave I could not rest if a
slur were cast on my respectability — my name."

Lord Vargrave spoke solemnly and warmly; then
muttering to himself, '' Yes, it is for the best,^' he took
up his hat and left the room. He joined his stepchild
on the lawn. He romped with her, he played with her
— ^that stiff stately man ! — ^he laughed louder than she
did, and ran almost as fast. And when she was fa-
tigued and breathless, he made her sit down beside him
in a little summer-house, and fondly stroking down her
disordered tresses, said, ^' You tire me out, child ; I am
growing too old to play with you. Lumley must supply
ray place. You love Lumley ?"

" Oh, dearly, he is so good-natured, so kind ; he has
given me a beautiful doll, with such eyes !"

" You shall be his little wife ; you would like to be
his little wife V

'* Wife ! why poor mamma is a wife, and she is not
so happy as I am."

*' Your mamma has bad health, my dear," said Lord
Vargrave, a little discomposed. " But it is a fine thing
to be a wife, and, have a carriage of your own, and a
fine house, and jewels, and plenty of money, and be
your own mistress ; and Lumley will love you dearly.'*

" Oh, yes, I should like all that."

" And you will have a protector, child, when I am no
more !"

The tone, rather that the words, of her stepfather,
struck a damp into that childish heart. Evelyn lifted
her eyes, gazed at him earnestly, and then, throwing
her arms round him, burst into tears.

Lord Vargrave wiped his own eyea and covered her
with kisses.

"Yes, you shall be Lumley's wife, his honoured wife,
heiress to my raidc as to my fortunes."

'' I will do all that papa wishes."

142 LOVERS ARE INTERESTING TO ALL

" .You will be Lady Vargrave then, and Lumley will
be your husband/^ said the stepfather, impressively.
" Think over what I have said. Now let us join mam-
ma. But, as I live, here is Lumley himself. However,
it is not yet the time to sound him : 1 hope that he has
no chance with that Lady Florence."

CHAPTER VI.

" Fair encounter
Of two most rare affections."

Tempest.

Meanwhile the betrothed were on their road to Lon-
don. The balmy and serene beauty of the day had in-
duced them to perform the short journey on horseback.
It is somewhere said that lovers are never so handsome
as in each other's company, and neither Florence nor
Ernest ever looked so well as on horseback. There
was something in the stateliness and the grace of both,
something even in the aquiline outline of their features
and the haughty bend of the neck, that made a sort of
likeness between these young persons, although there
was no comparison as to their relative degrees of per-
sonal advantage : the beauty of Florence defied all com-
parison. And as they rode from Cleveland's porch,
where the other guests, yet lingering, were assembled
to give the farewell greeting, there was a general con-
viction of the happiness destined to the affianced ones ;
a general impression that both in mind and person they
were eminently suited to each other. Their position
was that which is ever interesting, even in more ordi-
nary people, and at that moment they were absolutely
popular with all who gazed on them ; and when the
good old Cleveland turned away with tears in his eyes
and murmured " Bless them !" there was not one of the
party who would have hesitated to join in the 'prayer.

Florence felt a nameless dejection as she left a spot
so consecrated by grateful recollections.

" When shall we be again so happy V said she, softly,
as she turned back to gaze upon the landscape which,
gay with flowers, and shrubs, and the bright English
verdure, smiled behind them like a garden.

THX RIDB. 149

" We will try and make ray old hall and its gloomy
shades remind us of these fairer scenes, my Florence.'*

*' Ah ! describe to me the character of your place.
We shall live there principally, shall we noti I am
sure I shall like it much better than Marsden Court,
which is the name of that huge pile of arches and col-
umns in Vanburgh's heaviest taste, which will soon be
yours."

" I fear we shall never dispose of all your mighty ret-
inue, grooms of the chamber, and Patagonian footmen,
and Heaven knows who besides, in the holes and cor-
ners of Burleigh," said Ernest, smiling. And then he
went on to describe the old place with something of a
well-bom country gentleman's not displeasing pride ;
and Florence listened, and tshey planned, and altered,
and added, and improved, and laid out a map for the fu-
ture. From that topic they turned to another equally
interesting to Florence, The work in which Maltrav-
ers had been engaged was completed, was in the hands
of the printer, and Florence amused herself with con-
jectures as to the criticisms it woiild provoke. She
was certain that all that had most pleased her would be
caviare to the multitude. She never would believe that
any one could understand Maltravers but herself. Thus
time flew on till they passed that part of the road in
which had occurred Krnesl's adventure with Mr. Tem-
pleton's daughter. Maltravers paused abruptly in the
midst of his glowing periods, as the spot awakened its
associations and reminiscences, and looked round anx-
iously and inquiringly. But the fair apparition was not
again visible ; and whatever impression the place pro-
duced, it gradually died away as they entered the sub-
urbs of the great metropolis. Two other gentlemen
and a young lady of thirty-three (I had almost forgotten
them) were of the party, but they had the taCct to linger
a little behind during the greater part of the road, and
the young lady, who was a wit and a flirt, found gossip
and sentiment for both the cavaliers.

" Will you come to us this evening 1" asked Florence,
timidly.

'* I fear I shall not be able. I have several matters
to arrange before I leave town for Burleigh, which I
must do next week. Three months, dearest Florence,
will scarcely suffice to make Burleigh put on its best
looks to greet its new mistress ; and I have already ap-

144 CMBJLBXHl.

minted the great modern magicians of draperies and
ormolu to consult how we may make Aladdm's palace
fit for the reception of the new princess. Lawers, too !
in short, I expect to be fully occupied. But to-mor-
row, at three, I shall be with you, and we can ride out,
if the day be fine."

" Surely," said Florence, " yonder is Signor Csesar-
ini — ^how haggard and altered he appears !"

Maltravers, turning his eyes towards the spot to
which Florence pointed, saw Caesarini emerging from
a lane, with a porter behind him carrying some books
and a trunk. The Italian, who was talking and gestic-
ulating as to himself, did not perceive them.

'' Poor Castruccio ! he seems leaving his lodging,"
thought Maltravers. *' By this time I fear he will have
spent the last sum I conveyed to him ; I must remenaber
to find him out and replenish his stores. Do not forget,"
said he, aloud, " to see Caesarini, and urge him to accept
the appointment we spoke of"

" I will not forget it — I will see him to-morrow before
we meet. Yet it is a painful task, Ernest."

" I allow it — sdas ! Florence, you owe him some rep-
aration. He undoubtedly once conceived himself en- .
titled to form hopes, the vanity of which his ignorance
of our English world and his foreign birth prevented him
from suspecting."

*' Believe me, I did not give him the right to form
aoch expectations."

*^ But you did not sufficiently discourage them. Ah,
Florence, never underrate the pangs of hope crushed,
of love contemned."

"Dreadful!" said Florence, almost shuddering. "It
is strange, but my conscience never so smote me be-
fore. It is since I love that I feel for the first time how
guilty a creature is — "

" A coquet !" interrupted Maltravers ; " well, let ns
think of the past no more ; but if we can restore a
gifted man, whose youth promised much to an honour-
able independence and a healthful mind, let us do so.
Me, CaBsarini never can forgive ; he will think I have
robbed him of you. But we men — the woman we have
once loved, even after she rejects us, ever has some
power over us ; and your eloquence, which has so often
roused me, cannot fail to impress a nature yet more ex«
citable."

A 8PAILK THAT PIUS THB TRAUC. 145

Maltravers, on leaving Florence at her own door,
went home, summoned his favourite servant, gshre him
Csesarini's address at Chelsea, bade him find out where
he was, if he had left his lodgings, and leave at his
present home, or (failing its discovery) at the Travel-
lers, a cover, which he made his servant address, en-
closing a bank note of some amount. If the reader
wonder why Maltravers thus constituted himself the
unknown benefactor of the Italian, I must tell him that he
does not understand Maltravers. Caesarini was not the
only man of letters whose faults he mtied, whose wants
he reUeved. Though his name seldom shone in the
pompous lists of public subscriptions ; though he dis-
dained to affect the Maecenas and the patron, he felt the
brotherhood of mankind, and a kind of gratitude for
those who aspired to raise or to delight their species.
An author himself, he could appreciate the vast debt
which the world owes to authors, and pays but by cal-
umny in life and barren laurels after death. His veir
love of the beautiful kept the heart of Ernest Mal-
travers soft and charitable, compassionate and generoiuu

CHAPTER VII.

<* Don John. How canst thou cross this marriage T
BoracfUo, Not honestly, my lord, but so covertly that no dishonesty
■hall appear in me, my lord.*'

Much Ado abota Nothing.

Ferrers and Csesarini were sitting over their wine,
and both had sunk into silence, for they had only one
subject in common, when a note was brought to Lumley <
from Lady Florence — ** This is lucky enough !" said he,
as he read it. " Lady Florence wishes to see you, and
encloses me a note for you, wf^ch she asks me to ad-
dress and forward to you. There it is."

Caesarini took the note with trembling hands : it was
very short, and merely expressed a desire to see him
the next day at two o'clock.

'' What can it be V he exclaimed ; " can she want to
apologize, to explain ?"

*'No, no, no! Florence will n(ft do that; but, from

Vol. IL— N

146 €^8ARINI WRITES TO MALTRATBR9*

certain words she dropped in talking with me, I guess
that she has some offer to your worldly advantage to
propose to you. Ha ! by-the-way, a thought strikes
me."

Lumley eagerly rang the bell. *' Is Lady Florence's
servant waiting for an answer V

" Yes, sir." ^

" Very well — detain him."

*'Now, Csesahni, assurance is made doubly sure.
Come into the next room. There, sit down at my desk
and write, as I shall dictate, to Maltravers."

»* I !"

** Yes ! now do put yourself in my hands — ^write, write.
When you have finished I will explain."
Ceesarini obeyed, and the letter was as follows : —

" Dear Maltravers,

" I have learned your approaching marriage with Lady
Florence Lascelles. Permit me to congratulate yon.
For myself, I have overcome a vain and foolish passion,
and can contemplate your happiness without a sigh.

" I have reviewed all my old prejudices against mar-
riage, and believe it to be a state which notlung but ^e
most perfect congeniality of temper, pursuits, and minds
can render bearable. How rare is such congeniality!
in your case it may exist. The affections of that bean-
tiful being are doubtless ardent — and they are yours !

" Write me a Une by the bearer to assure me of your
belief of my sincerity.

" Yours,

" C. Cjbsarinl"

" Copy out this letter, I want its ditto — quick. Now
seal and direct the duplicate," continued Ferrers ; " that's
right— go into the hall, give it yourself to Lady Flor-
ence's servant, and beg him to take it to Seamore-place,
wait for an answer, and bring it here ; by which time
you will have a note ready for Lady Florence. Say I
will mention this to her ladyship, and give the man half
a crown. There — ^begone."

" I do not understand a word of this," said Csesarini,
when he returned ; " will you explain 1"

" Certainly ; the copy of the note you have despatched
to Maltravers I shall show to Lady Florence this eve-
ning, as a proof of your sobered and generous feelings;.

THE REPLY. 14T

observe, it is so written that the old letter of your rival
may seem an exact reply to it. To-morrow, a reference
to this note of yours will bring out our scheme more
easily ; and if you follow my instructions you will not
seem to volunteer showing our handiwork, as we at first
intended ; but rather to yield it to her eyes from a gen-
erous impulse, from an irresistible desire to save her
from an unworthy husband and a wretched fate. For-
tune has been dealing our cards for us, and has turned
up the ace. Three to one now»on the odd trick. Mal-
travers, too, is at home. I called at his house on re-
turning from my nucleus, and learned that he would not
stir out all the evening."

In due time came the answer from Ernest : it was
short and hurried ; but full of all the manly kindness of
his nature ; it expressed admiration and delight at the
tone of Cssarini^s letter ; it revoked all former expres-
sions derogatory to Lady Florence ; it owned the harsh-
ness and errors of his first impressions ; it used every
delicate argument that could sooth and reconcile Caesar-
ini ; and concluded by sentiments of friendship and de-
sire of service so cordial, so honest, so free from the af-
fectation of patronage, that even Ceesarini himself, half
insane as he was with passion, was almost softened.
Lumley saw the change in his countenance — snatched
the letter from his hand — read it — threw it into the fire
— and saying, " We must guard against accidents," clap-
ped the Italian affectionately on the shoulder, and added,
** Now you can have no remorse — for a more Jesuitical
piece of insulting, hypocritical cant, I never read.
Where's your note to Lady Florence 1 Your compli-
ments, you will be with her at two. There — ^now the
rehearsal's over, the scenes arranged, and Fll dress and
Open the play for you with a prologue."

148 CJB8ARIKI MEETS FLORENCE.

CHAPTER Vin.

** JEstuat ingens
Imo in corde pudor, mixtoque insania lactn,
£t funis agitatus amor, et conscia virtus."

VikgQn

The next day, punctual to his appointment, Cassarini
repaired to his critical interview with Lady Florence.
Her countenance, which, like that of most persons whose
temper is not under their command, ever too faithfully
expressed what was within, was unusually flushed.
Lumley had dropped words and hints which had driven
sleep from her pillow and repose from her mind.

She rose from her seat with nervous agitation as Cs-
sarini entered and made his grave salutation. After s
short and embarrassed pause she recovered, however,
her self-possession, and, with all a woman's delicate and
dexterous tact, urged upon the Italian the expediency
of accepting the offer of honourable independence now
extended to him.

" You have abilities," she said, in conclusion — " yon
hare friends — ^you have youth — ^take advantage of those
gifts of nature and fortune, and fulfil such a career as,"
added Lady Florence, with a smile, '* Dante did not con-
sider incompatible with poetry."

" I cannot object to an^^ career," said Cassarini, with
an effort, " that may serve to remove me from a conntiy
that has no longer any charms for me. I thank you for
your kindness — I will obey you. May you be happy—
and yet — ^no, ah! no — ^happy you must be ! Even he,
sooner or later, must see you with my eyes."

" I know," replied Florence, falteringly, " that yon
have wisely and generously mastered a past illusion.
Mr. Ferrers allowed me to see the letter you wrote to
Er — to Mr. Maltravers ; it was worthy of you — it touched
me deeply ; but I trust you will outlive your prejudi-
ces against — "

" Stay," interrupted Caesarini, " did Ferrers commn-
nicate to you the answer to that letter?"

" No, indeed."

« I am glad of it."

KNAYBRT AND CRBBULITY. 149

«* Why t»

" Oh, no matter. God bless you — farewell."

** No — I implore you do not go yet — what was there
in that letter that it coiQd pain me to see? Lumley
hinted darkly, but would not speak out — ^be more frank."

" I cannot — ^it would be treachery to Maltravers— cru-
elty to you — ^yet, would it be cruel ?"

" No, it would not — it would be kindness and mercy ;
show me the letter — ^you have it with you."

" You could not bear it ; you would hate me for the
pain it would give you. . Let me depart."

" Man, you wrong Maltravers. I see it now. You
woidd darkly slander him whom you cannot openly de-
fame. Go— I was wrong to listen to you — go !"

" Lady Florence, beware how you taunt me into un-
deceiving you. Here is the letter, it is his handwriting ;
will you read it? I warn you not."

" I will believe nothing but the evidence of my own
eyes — ^give it me."

"Stay then; on two conditions. First, that you
promise me sacredly that you will not disclose to Mal-
travefs, without my consent, that you have seen this
letter. Think not I fear his anger. No ! but in the
mortal encounter that must ensue, if you thus betray
me, your character would be lowered in the world's
eyes, and even I (my excuse unknown) mignt not ap-
pear to have acted with honour in obeying your desire,
and warning you, while there is yet time, of bartering
love for avarice. Promise me."

" I do — I do most solemnly."

" Secondly, assure me that you will not ask to keep
the letter, but will immediately restore it to me."

" I promise it. Now then."

" Take the letter."

Florence seized, and rapidly read the fatal and gar-
bled document ; her brain was dizzy — ^her eyes clouded
— her ears rang as with a sound of water — she was sick
and giddy with emotion, but she read enough. This
letter was written, then, in answer of Castruccio's of
last night — it avowed dislike of her character — it pro-
duced the impossibility to love her — ^it more than hinted
the mercenary nature of his feelings. Yes, even there,
where she had garnered up her heart, she was not Flor-
ence, the lovely and beloved woman ; but Florence, the
wealthy and highborn heiress. The world which she

150 THB CLOUD IN THB RKATEK8.

had bailt upon the faith and heart of Maltrayers crnrn-
bled away at her feet. The letter dropped from her
bands ; her whole form seemed to shnnk and shrirel
up ; her teeth were set, and her cheek was as whi^ as
marble.

*' O God!" cried Caesarini, stung with remorse. "Speak
to me, speak to me, Florence. I did wrong — forget
that hateful letter. I have been false — ^faJse."

" Ah, false-Hsay so again ! — no, no, I remember he
told me — ^he, so wise, so deep a judge of human charac-
ter — that he would be sponsor for ^rour faith — that your
honour and heart were incorruptible. It is true. 1
thank you ; you have saved me from a terrible fate.

" Oh, Lady Florence, dear — ^too dear — ^yet would that
— ^alas ! she does not listen to me," muttered Castruccio,
as Florence, pressing her hands to her temples, walked
wildly to and fro the room; at length she paused op-
posite to Caesarini, looked him full in the face, retumdi
him the letter without a word, and pointed to the door.

** No, no, do not bid me leave you yet," said Caesari-
ni, trembling with repentant emotion, yet half beside
himself with jealous rage at her love for his rival

" My friend, go," said Florence, in a tone of voice
singularly subdued and soft. " Do not fear me — ^I hare
more pride in me than even affection; but there are
certain struggles in a woman's breast which she could
never betray to any one — any one but a mother. God
help me, I have none ! — go-— when next we meet I shall
be calm."

She held out her hand as she spoke; the Italian
dropped on his knee, kissed it convulsively, and, fear-
ful of trusting himself further, vanished from the room.

He had not been long gone before Maltravers was
seen riding through the street. As he threw himself
from his horse, he looked up at the window and kissed
his hand at Lady Florence, who stood there watching
his arrival, with feehngs, indeed, far different from those
he anticipated. He entered the room lightly and gayly.

Florence stirred not to welcome him. He approached
and took her hand ; she withdrew it with a shudder.

" Are you not well, Florence 1"

" I am well, for I have recovered."

" What do you mean — why do you turn from me 1"

Lady Florence fixed her eyes on him, eyes that lite-
rally blazed—her lip quivered with scorn.

\ THE 8TO&M4 161

"Mr. Maltravers, at length I know you. I under-
stand the feelings with which you have sought a union
between us. Oh God ! why, why was I thus cursed
with riches — why made a thing of barter, and merchan-
dise, and ayarice, and low ambition t Take my wealth,
take it, Mr. Maltravers, since that is what yon prize.
Heaven knows, I can cast it willingly away ; but leave
the wretch whom you long deceived, and who now,
wretch though she be, renounces and despises you."

'* Lady Florence, do I hear aright 1 Who has accused
me to you V

" None, sir, none — ^I would have believed none. Let
it suffice that I am convinced that our union can be
happy to neither; question me no further — ^all inter-
course between us is for ever over !"

"Pause," said Maltravers, with cold and grave so-
lemnity — " another word, and the gulf will become im-
passable. Pause."

"Do not," exclaimed the unhappy lady, stung by
what she considered the assurance of a hardened hypoc-
risy — ^" do not affect this haughty superiority, it dupes
me no longer. I was your slave while I loved you —
the tie is broken. I am free, and I hate and scorn you.
Mercenaiy and sordid as you are, your baseness of
spirit revives the differences of our rank. Henceforth,
Mr. Maltravers, I am Lady Florence Lascelles, and by
that title alone will you know me — begone, sir !"

As she spoke, with passion distorting every feature
of her face, all her beauty vanished away from the eyes
of the proud Maltravers, as if by witchcraft ; the angel
seemed transformed into the fury, and cold, bitter, and
withering was the eye which he fixed upon that work-
ing and agonized countenance.

" Mark me. Lady Florence Lascelles," said he, very
calmly, " you have now said what you can never recall.
Were you my wife, the mother of my children ; were
these the first words of insult that after long and de-
voted years of wedded life you had ever uttered, such
words would sufiice to annihilate all love, and all re-
membrance but of themselves. Were you to discover
that you had wronged me, and to crawl upon your
knees to pray my pardon, I would not grant it. Nei-
ther in man nor woman did Ernest Maltravers ever
forget or for^ve a sentence which accused him of dis-
honour. I bid you farewell for ever ; and with my last

152 FERRERS AND MALTRAVERS.

words I condemn you to the darkest of all dooms— the
remorse that comes too late !"

Slowly he moved away ; and, as the door closed upon
that towering and haughty form, Florence already felt
that his curse was working to its fulfilment. She rushed
to the window ; she caught one last glimpse of him as
his horse bore him rapidly away. Ah ! when shall they
meet again ?

CHAPTER IX.

" And now I live— oh, wherefore do I live?
And with that pang I prayed to be no more."

WORDSWOBTH.

It was about nine o'clock that evening, and Maltrav-
ers was alone in his room. His carriage was at the
door — his servants were arranging the luggage — ^he was
going that night to Burleigh. London— society — ^the
world, were grown hateful to him. His galled and in-
dignant spirit demanded solitude. At this time Lumley
Ferrers abruptly entered.

*' You will pardon my intrusion," said the latter, with
his usual frankness, " but — "

" But what, sir ? I am engaged."

" I shall be very^ brief. Maltravers, you are my old
friend. I retain regard and affection for you, though
our different habits have of late estranged us. I come
to you from my cousin — from Florence ; there has been
some misunderstanding between you. I called on her
to-day after you left the house. Her grief affected me.
I have only just left her. She has been told by some
gossip or other some story or other — women are cred-
ulous, foolish creatures ; undeceive her, and I dare say
all may be settled."

" Ferrers, if a man had spoken to me as Lady Flor-
ence did, his blood or mine must have flowi^. And (Jo
you think that words that might have plunglid me into
the guilt of homicide if uttered by a man, 1 pould ever
pardon in one whom I had dreamed of for a wife!
Never !"

"Pooh — pooh; women's words are wind. Don't
throw away so splendid a match for such a trifle.**

FBRRBR8 AND UALTRAYBRB. 153

" Do you, too, sir, mean to impute mercenary motives
to me ?"

" God forbid ! you know I am no coward, but I really
donH want to fight you. Come, be reasonable."

'* I dare say you mean well, but the breach is final ;
all recurrence to it is painful and superfluous. I must
wish you good-evening."

" You have positively decided."

" I have."

*' Even if Lady Florence make the amende honorable ?"

'* Nothing on the part of Lady Florence could alter
my resolution. The woman whom an honourable man,
an English gentleman, makes the partner of his life,
ought never to listen to a syllable against his fair name :
his honour is hers, and if lier lips, that should breathe
com/ort in calumny, only serve to retail the lie — she
may be beautiful, gifted, wealthy, and highborn, but he
takes a curse to his arms. That curse I have escaped."

^ And this I am to say to my cousin ?"

" As you will. And now stay, Lumley Ferrers, and
hear me. I neither accuse nor suspect you ; I desire not
to pierce your heart, and, in this case, I cannot fathom
your motives ; but if it should so have happened that
you have, in any way, ministered to Lady Florence
Lascelles's injurious opinions of my faith and honour,
you will have much to answer for, and sooner or later
there will come a day of reckoning between you and
me."

^ Mr. Maltravers, there can be no quarrel between us,
with my cousin's fair name at stake, or else we should
not now part without preparations for a more hostile
meeting. I can bear your language. /, too, though
no philosopher, can forgive. Come, man, you aro
heated — ^it is very natural; let us part frienas — ^your
hand."

*' If you can take my hand, Lumley, you are innocent,
and I nave wronged you."

Lumley smiled, and cordially pressed the hand of his
old friend.

As he descended the stairs, Maltravers followed, and
just as Lumley turned into Curzon-street, the carriage
whirled rapidly past him, and, by the lamps, he saw the
pale and stem face of Maltravers.

It was a slow drizzling rain, one of those unwhole-
some close nights frequent in London towards the end

154 LOVE CONQtTERS PRIDE.

of autumn . Ferrers, however, i nsensible to the weather,
walked slowly and thoughtfully towards his cousin's
house. He was playing for a mighty stake, and hith-
erto the cast was in his favour, yet he was uneasy and
perturbed. His conscience was tolerably proof to all
compunction, as much from the levity as from the
strength of his nature ; and, Maltravers removed, he
trusted in his knowledge of the human heart, and the
smooth spaciousness of his manner, to win, at last, in
the hand of Lady Florence, the object of his ambition.
It was not on her affection, it was on her pique, her
resentment, that he relied. " When a woman fancies
herself slighted by the man she loves, the first person
who proposes must be a clumsy wooer indeed if he does
not carry her away." So reasoned Ferrers, but yet he
was ruffled and disquieted ; the truth must be spoken ;
able, bold, sanguine, and scornful as he was, his spirit
quailed before that of Maltravers ; he feared the lion of
that nature when fairly aroused : his own character had
in it something of a woman's — an unprincipled, gifted,
aspiring, and subtle woman's, and in Maltravers, stem,
simple, and masculine, he recognised the superior dig-
nity of the " lords of the creation ;" he was overawed
by the anticipation of a wrath and revenge which he
felt he merited, and which he feared might be deadly.

While gradually, however, his spirit recovered its
usual elasticity, he came in the vicinity of Lord Saxing-
ham's house, and suddenly, by a comer of the street,
his arm was seized : to his inexpressible astonishment
he recognised in the muffled figure that accosted him
the form of Florence Lascelles.

"Good heavens," he cried, "is it possible! You
alone in the streets at this hour, and such a night too!
How very wrong, how very imprudent !"

" Do not talk to me ; I am almost mad as it is : I could
not rest ; I could not brave quiet solitude • still less
the face of my father ; I could not ; but quick, what
says hel What excuse has he? Tell me everything;
I will cling to a straw."

" And is this the proud Florence Lascelles ?"

" No ; it is the humbled Florence Lascelles. I hafe
done with pride ; speak to me."

" Ah, what a treasurers such a heart ! How can he
throw it away !"

'* Does he deny ?"

PRIDE REBELS. 155

" He denies nothing ; he expresses himself rejoiced
to have escaped — such was his expression — a marriage
iu which his heart never was engaged. He is unworthy
of you; forget him."

Florence shivered, and, as Ferrers drew her arm in
his own, her ungloved hand touched his, and the touch
was like that of ice.

" What will the servants think 1 what excuse can we
make V said Ferrers, when they stood beneath the porch.

Florence did not reply; but, as the d6or opened, she
said softly,

" I am ill — ill" — and clung to Ferrers with that un-
nerved and heavy weight which betokens faintness.
' The light glared on her ; the faces of the lackeys
betokened their undisguised astonishment. With a vio-
lent effort she recovered herself, for she had not yet
done with pride, swept through the hall with her usual
stately step, slowly ascended the broad staircase, and
gained the solitude of her own room, to fall senseless
on the floor.

END OF BOOK VIII.

BOOK IX.

Sop H0CLR8^ Antig , 815.
" I go, the bride of Acheron."

MAAovra raSra.

i^, 1333.

" These things are in the futuret*'

Vol. II.— O

wK^'

':.m

BOOK IX.

CHAPTER I.

** Sau9. I too4iaTe oracles

That claim a hearing."
MiTCHELLs's Aristophanes. — Jlu Knights.

I WONDER whether the world will perceive all the
sublime and beautiful things there are in this work!
My sweet Alice — I may speak of you without the
vanity of authorship ; for Nature moulded ^rou, and I
did but copy — will they discover how exquisite were
the materials of innocence, that sin itself could not
mar, from which you were created ? You, Alice, you
— whom it would have been impossible even for poets
to create from the teeming fancy — the literal and sim-
ple transcript from the real! Two years as^o, yea,
even two little years, I should have spoiled the can-
vass that coldly reflects your image. I should have let
my enthusiasm run away with me, and have overcol-
oured your modest and delicate hues ; ^^ patience —
the sequel of your fortunes is yet to calm. And my
banker, my excellent, worthy, respectable banker, the
dolts would have liked you better if I had daubed you
in coarser colours, and made you a Glossop or a Rich-
ard the Third ; and Lumley Ferrers — with your man-
ners of wax and your heart of stone — sharp and bitter
is the experience a man must have attained ere he
could have selected you from the hf^rd ; and Florence,
the proud and peerless, and Ernest Maltravers himself,
with his progressive changes and varying hues— oh,
how much finer a writer they would have thought me,
if, instead of these new combinations of human life, I
had chalked out a villain, and a worthy, and a dwarf,
and a caricature humourist of one phrase ! Will they
fancy, Ernest Maltravers, that you were meant for me,
because you are an author and a politician 1 — the sus-
picion would flatter me — ^but there is not even a family

160 THB INTRUSION.

resemblance. Alas ! I i^ish I catUd draw myself!
What author ever could mimic his own features 1 We
are too various and too cohiplex to have a likeness in
any one of our creation.

No ! Ernest Maltravers, you are an original, not a
copy ; you will not interest young ladies and gentle-
men half as much as if you had been a bold impostor,
with a sneer and a swagger. What do we care, Er-
nest 1 we must bide our time ; and yet, if the judgments
of to-day are hollow, those of to-morrow we may never
hear ! Alas ! how is the bloom faded from the face of
life! how is the golden bowl broken at the cistern!
Ah ! fair days of youth, when ^ I had no name — when
there was no such thing as experience — would I could
recall you; perhaps in age your shadow may come
back to me, though the light be lost; for when we
have seen and tried all things, we return to the same
conclusions as those from which we started, and in
the glass of memory we look once more on, the form
of hope! I long for the hour when I shall breakup
my wand and drown my books; the island I have
dwelt in is a desert. I am growing egotistical. " What
has this to do with your story?" cries some solemn
Mr. Bnyes. " Sir, I beff your pardon ; but everything
relating to the author illustrates the work. None of
us are half egotistical enough ! You are puzzled— let
us go on."

CHAPTER n.

" There the action lies
In its true nature.

What then? What rests
Try what lepentance can !"

Hamlet.

*' I doubt he will be dead or ere I come."

King John.

It was a fine afternoon in December, when Lumley
Ferrers turned from Lord Saxingham's door. The
knockers were muflaed— the windows on the third story
were partially closed. There was sickness in that
house.

TILLANT OF PASSION AND OF CRAPT. 161

Lumley's face was unusually grave ; it was even sad.
** So young — so beautiful," he muttered. " If ever T
loved woman, I do believe I loved her — ^that love must
be my excuse. I repent me of what I have done — but
I could not foresee that a mere lover's stratagem was
to end in such effects — the metaphysician was very
right when he said, ' We only sympathize with feelings
we know ourselves.' A little disappointment in love
could not have hurt me much — ^it is d-— d odd it should
hurt her so. I am altogether out of luck— -old Temple-
ton — 1 beg his pardon, Lord Vargrdve — (by-the-by, he
gets heartier every day — what a constitution he has !)
seems cross with me. He did not like the idea that J
should marry Lady Florence ; and, when I thought that
vision might have been realized, hinted that 1 was dis
appointing some expectations he had formed ; I canH
make out what he means. Then, too, the government
have offered that place to Maltravers instes^ of to me.
In fact, my star is not in the ascendant. Poor Florence
though — I would really give a great deal to know her
well — 1 have done a viUanous thing, but I thought it
only a clever one. However, regret is a fooPs passion.
By Jupiter — ^talking of fools — here comes Caesarini."

Wan, haggard, almost spectral, his hat over his brows,
his dress neglected, his air reckless and fierce — Cesar-
ini crossed the way and thus accosted Lumley. ,

"We have murdered her, Ferrers, a^Mshost will
haunt us to our dying day." ^^^^^K

*' Talk prose — you know I am no pHJJ^Vhat do
you mean V

** She is worse to-day," groaned Cssarini, in a hollow
voice. '*I wander like a spectre round the house; I
question all who come from it; tell me— oh tell me, is
there hope ?"

" I do indeed trust so," replied Ferrers, fervently.
** The illness has only of late assumed an alarming ap-

Cearance. At first it was merely a severe cold caught
y imprudent exposure one rainy night. Now they
fear it has settled on the lungs ; but if we could get her
abroad all might be welL"
" You think so, honestly t"

" I do. Courage, my friend— do not reproach your-
4Belf ; it has nothing to do with us. She was taken ill
of a cold — not of a letter, man !"
" No, no— I judge her heart by my own. Oh, that ^

162 PENITSNOE AND CONFESSION.

could recall the past ! Look at me ; I am the wreck of
what I was— day and night the recollection of my false-
hood haunts me with remorse.'*

" Pshaw — we will go to Italy together, and in ycrar
beautiful land love will replace love.''

'* I am half resolved, Ferrers."

*' Ha !— to do what V

** To write — ^to reveal all to her."

The hardy complexion of Ferrers grew livid; his
brow became dark with a terrible expression.

" Do so, and fall the next day by my hand — my aim,
in slighter quarrel, never erred."

" Do yon dare to threaten me V

" Do you dare to betray me 1 betray one who, if he
sinned, sinned on your account — ^in your cause — who
would have secured to you the loveliest bride and the
most princely dower in England ; and whose only of-
fence to you is that he cannot command life and health T

'* Forgive me," said the Italian, with great emotion,
'* forgive me — and do not misunderstand; I would not
have betrayed you, there is honour among villains. I
would have confessed only my own crime; I would
never have revealed yours — why should I ? — it is un-
necessary."

" Are you in earnest — are you sincere t"

" By. my soul."

** TheQ^M|ted, you are worthy of my friendship ; you
will ass^j^Hpe whole forgery — an ugly word, but it
avoids ci rlHBcution — to be your own ?"

"1 will."

Ferrers paused a moment, and then stopped suddenly
short.

" You will swear this ?"

"By all that is holy."

" Then — mark me, Cssarini— if to-morrow Lady Flor-
ence be worse 1 will throw no obstacle in the way of
your confession, should you resolve to make it; I will
even use that influence which you leave me to palliate
your oflfence, to win your pardon. And yet to resign your
hopes— to surrender one so loved to the arms of oneso
hated — it is magnanimous — it is noble — it is above my
standard ! Do as you will."

Cffisarini was about to reply, when a servant on horse*
back abruptly turned the corner, almost at full speed
He pulled in— his eye fellttpoii Lumley — he disaiounted.

THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 163

" Oh, Mr. Ferrers," said the man, breathlessly, " I
have been to your house ; they told me I might find yon
at Lord Saxingliam's — 1 was just going there."

" Well, well, what is the matter 1"

" My poor master, sir — ^my lord, I mean."

"What of him!"

" Had a fit, sir—the doctors are with him — ^my mis-
tress — for my lord can't speak — sent me express for
you."

" Lend me your horse — there, just lengthen the stir-
rups."

While the groom was engaged at the saddle Ferrers
turned to Csesarini. " Do nothin^^ rashly," said he ; "I
would say, if 1 might, nothing without consulting me ;
but mind, I rely, at all events, on your promise — your
oath."

You may," said Csesarini, gloomily
Farewell, then," said Lumley, as he mounted, axi4
in a few moments was out of sight.

CHAPTER HL

** Oh world, thou wast the forest to this hi

* ♦ ♦ ♦

Dost thou here he V*

Julius CiSSAR.

As Lumley leaped from his horse at his uncle's door,
the disorder and bustle of those demesnes, in which
the severe eye of the master usually preserved a re-
pose and silence as complete as if the affairs of life
were carried on by clockwork, struck upon Inm sensi-
bly. Upon the trim lawn the old women employed in
cleaning and weeding the walks were all assembled in a
cluster, shaking their heads ominously in concert and
carrying on their comments in a confused whisper. In
the bail the housemaid (and it was the first housemaid
whom Lumley had ever seen in that house — so invisi-
bly were the wheels of the domestic machine carried
^n) was leaning on her broom, ** swallowing with open
mouth a footman^s news." It was as if, with the firtrt
slackeiiiiig of the rigid rein, human nature broke loose

164 THE PATIENT.

from the conventual stillness in which it had ever paced
its peaceful path in that formal mansion.

" How is he V

" My lord is better, sir ; he has spoken, I believe."

At this moment a young face, swollen and red' with
weeping, looked down from the stairs ; and presently
Evelyn rushed breathlessly into the hall.

'* Oh, come up--come up, cousin Lumley ; he cannot,
cannot die in your presence ; you always seem so fyU
of life ! He cannot die ; you do not think he will die.
Oh tdke me with you — ^they won't let me go to him."

" Hush, my dear little girl, hush ; follow me lightly-
that is right."

Lumley reached the door — ^tapped gently— entered ;
and the child also stole in unobserved, or at least on-
prevented. Lumley drew aside the curtains ; the new
lord was lying on his bed, with his head propped by pil-
lows; his eyes wide open with a glassy, but not in-
sensible stare, and his countenance fearfully changed.
Lady Vargrave was kneeling on the other side of the
bed, one hand clasped in her husband's, the other
bathing his temples, and her tears falling, without sob
or sound, fast and copiously down her psde fair cheeks.

Two doctors were conferring in the recess of the
window ; an apothecary was mixing drugs at a table ;
and two of the oldest female servants of the house were
standing near the physicians trying to overhear what
was said. '*^

" My dear, dear uncle, how are you 1" asked Lumley.

" Ah, you are come, then," said the dying man, in a
feeble yet distinct voice ; ** that is well — 1 have mach
to say to you."

" But not now — not now — you are not strong
enough," said the wife, imploringly.

The doctors moved to the bedside. Lord Vargrave
waved his hand and raised his head.

" Gentlemen," said he, " I feel as if death were hast-
ening upon me ; I have much need, while my senses re-
main, to confer with my nephew. Is the present a fit-
ting time—if I delay, are you sure that I shall have any
other t"

The doctors looked at each other.

" My lord," said one, " it may perhaps settle and re-
lieve your mind to converse with your nephew ; aile^
ward you may better compose yourself to sleep."

THE PATIBNT. 1G5

** Take this cordial then," said the other doctor.

The sick man obeyed. One of the physicians ap-
proached Lumley, and beckoned him aside.

"Shall we send for his lordship^s lawyer?" whispered
the leech.

" I am his heir-at4aw," thought Lumley. " Why no,
my dear sir — no, I think not, unless he expresses a de-
sire ; doubtless my poor uncle has already settled his
worldly affairs. What is his state 1"

The doctor shook his head. *' I will speak to you,
sir, after you have left his lordship."

" What is the matter there 1" cried the patient,
sharply and querulously. " Clear the room ; I would
be alone with my nephew."

The doctors disappeared ; the old women reluctantly
followed ; when, suddenly, the little Evelyn sprang for-
ward and threw herself on the breast of the dying man,
sobbing as if her heart would break.

" My own child — my sweet child — my own, own dar-
ling," gasped out Lord Vargrave, folding his weak arms
around her ; " bless you — ^bless you ! and God will bless
you. My wife," he added, with a voice far more tea
der than Lumley had ever before heard him address to
Lady Vargrave, " if these be the last words I utter to
you, let them express all the gratitude I feel for you
for duties never more piously discharged ; you did not
love me, it is true, and in health and pride that knowl-
edge often made me unjust to you. I have been a
severe husband ; you have had much to bear — ^forgive
me."

" Oh, do not talk thus ; you have been nobler, kinder
than my deserts. How much I owe you — how little I
have done in return !"

" I cannot bear this — ^leave me, my love— leave me.
I may live yet — I hope I may — I do not want to die.
The cup may pass from me. Go — go— and you, my
child."

"Ah, let me stay."

liOrd Vargrave kissed the little creature as she clung
to his neck with passionate affection, and then, placing
her in her mother's arms, fell back exhausted on h*s
pillow. Lumley. with handkerchief to his eyes, opened
the door to Lady Vargrave, who sobbed bitterly, and
carefully closing it, resumed his station by his uncle.

When Lumley Ferrers left the room his countenance

166 THB PATIBNT.

was gloomy and excited, rather than sad. He hurried
to the room which he usually occupied, and remained
there for some hours while his uncle slept — a long and
sound sleep. But the mother and the stepchild (now
restored to the sick-room) did not desert their watch.

It wanted about an hour to midnight when the senior f
physician sought the nephew.

'* Your uncle asks for you, Mr. Ferrers ; and I think
it right to say that his last moments approach. We
have done all that can be done.*'

" Is he fuUy aware of his danger V

*' He is ; and has spent the last two hours in prayer
—it is a Christian's deathbed, sir."

*' Humph !" said Ferrers, as he followed the physician.

The room was darkened — a single lamp, carefully
shaded, burned on a table, on which lay the Book of Life
in Death ; and with awe, rather than grief, on their
faces, the mother and the child were kneeling beside
the bed.

" Come here, Lumley," faltered forth the fast-dying
man. "There are none here but you three — nearest
and dearest to me — that is well. Lumley, then, yoo
know all — my wife, he knows all. My child, give
your hand to your cousin — so you are now phghted.
When you grow up, Evelyn, you will know that it is
my last wish and prayer that you should be the wife of
Lumley Ferrers. By giving you this angel, Lumley,!
atone to you for all seeming injustice. And to you,
my child, I secure the rank and honours to which I
have painfully climbed, and which I am forbidden to en-
joy. Be kind to her, Lumley — ^you have a good and
frank heart — ^letit be her shelter — she has never known
a harsh word. God bless you all, and God forgive
me — ^pray for me. Lumley, to-morrow you will be
Lord Vargrave, and by-and-by" (here a ghastly but ex-
ultant smile flitted over the speaker's countenance)
" you will be my lady — Lady Vargrave. Lady co m
Lady Var— " ^

The words died on his trembling lips ; he turned
round, and though he continued to breathe for more
than an hour, Lord Vargrave never uttered another syl-
lable.

THOUOHTg. >67

CHAPTER IV.

" Hopes and feara
Start up alann'd, and o'eiuufe*s narrow rerge
Look down— <m what 7 a fathomless abyss."

Young.

** Contempt, farewell, and, maiden pride, adieu !'*

Much Ado about Nothing,

The wound which Maltravers had received was peculi-
arly severe and rankling. It is true that he had never been
w^hat is called violently in love with Florence Lascelles ;
but from the moment in which he had been touched
and surprised into the character of a declared suitor, it
-was consonant with his scrupulous and loyal nature to
view only the bright side of Florence's gifts and quali-
ties, and to seek to enamour his grateful fancy with her
beauty, her genius, and her tenderness for himself. He
bad thus forced and formed his thoughts and hopes to
centre all in one oluect ; and Florence and the future
had grown words which conveyed the same meaning
to his mind. Perhaps he felt more bitterly her sudden
and stunning accusations, couched as they were in lan-
guage so unqualified, because they fell upon his pride
rather than his affection, and were not softened away
by the thousand excuses and remembrances which a
passionate love would have invented and recalled. It
\fvas a deep concentrated sense of injury and insult,
that hardened and soured his whole nature — ^wounded
vanity, wounded pride, and wounded honour. And the
blow, too, came upon him at a time when he v^s most
dissatisfied with all other prospect-s. He was disgusted
with the httleness of the agents and springs of political
life ; he had formed a weary contempt of the barrenness
of literary reputation. At thirty years of age he had
necessarily outlived the sangume elasticity of early
-youth, and he had already broken up many of those
later toys in business and ambition which afford the
rattle and the hobby-horse to our maturer manhood.
Always asking for something too refined and too exalt-
ed for human Ufe^ every new proof of unworthiness in
men and things saddened or revolted a mind>still to6

1Q6 THOUGHTS.

fastidious for that quiet contentment with the world as
it is which we must all learn before we can make our

Philosophy practical, and our genius as fertile of the
arvest as it may be prodigal of the blossom. Haugh-
ty, solitary, and unsocial, the ordinary resources of
mortified and disappointed men were not for Ernest
Maltravers. Rigidly secluded in his country retirement,
he consumed the days in moody wanderings ; and in
the evenings he turned to books with a spirit disdainful
and fatigued. So much had he already learned, that
books taught him Uttle that he did not already know.
And the biographies of authors, those ghostlike beings
who seem to have had no life but in the shadow of their
own haunting and imperishable thoughts, dimmed the
inspiration he might have caught from their pages.
Those slaves of the lamp, those silkworms of the
closet, how little had they enjoyed, how little had they
lived ! Condemned to a mysterious fate by the whole-
sale destinies of the world, they seemed born but to
toil and to spin thoughts for the common herd; and,
their task performed in drudgery and in darkness, to die
when no further service could be wrung from their ex-
haustion. Names had they been in life, and as names
they lived for ever, in life as in death, airy and unsub-
stantial phantoms. It pleased Maltravers at this time
to turn a curious eye towards the obscure and half-ex-
tinct philosophies of the ancient world. He compared
the Stoics with the Epicureans — those Epicureans who
had given their own version to the simple and abste-
mious utilitarianism of their master. He asked which
was the wiser, to deaden pain or to sharpen pleasure-—
to bear all or to enjoy all — and, by a natural reaction
which often happens to us in life, this man, hitherto so
earnest, active-spirited, and resolved on great things,
began to yearn for the drowsy pleasures of indolence.
The garden grew more tempting than the porch. He
seriously revolved the old alternative of the Grecian
demigod — might it not be wiser to abandon the grave
pursuits to which he had been addicted ; to dethrone the
august but severe ideal in his heart ; to cultivate the
light loves and voluptuous trifles of the herd; and to
plant the brief space of youth yet left to him with the
mjrrtle and the rose? As water flows over water, so
new schemes rolled upon new, sweeping away e\erf
momentary impression, and leaving the surface facile

FLORBNCB^g LETTER. 169

equally to receive and to forget. Such is a common
state with imaginative men in those crises of life when
some great revolution of designs and hopes unset-
tles elements too susceptible of every changing wind.
And thus the weak are destroyed, while the strong re-
live, after terrible but unknown convulsions, into that
solemn harmony and order from which Destiny and God
draw their uses to mankind.

It was from this irresolute contest between antago-
nist principles that Maltravers was aroused by the fol-
lowing letter from Florence Lasceiles : —

** For three days and three sleepless nights I have
debated with myself whether or not I ought to address

?ou. Oh, Ernest, were I what I was, in health, in pride,
might fear that, generous as you are, you would mis-
construe my appeal ; but that is now impossible. Our
union never can take place, and my hopes bound them-
selves to one sweet and melancholy hope — ^that you
will remove from my last hours the cold and dark shad-^
ow of your resentment. We have both been cruelly
deceived and betrayed. Three days ago 1 discovered
the perfidy that has been practised against us. And
then, ah, then, with all the weak human anguish of dis-
covering it too late {your curse is fulfilled, Ernest !), I
had at least one moment of proud, of exquisite rapture.
Ernest Maltravers, the hero of my dreams, the god of
my worship, stood pure and lofty as of old — a thing it
was not unworthy to love, to mourn, to die for. A let-
ter in your handwriting had been shown me, garbled
and altered, as it seems ; but I detected not the impos-
ture ; it was yourself—- yourself alone, brought in raise
and horrible witness against yourself ! And could you
think that any other evidence — the words, the oaths of
others, would have convicted you in my eyes T There
you wronged me. But I deserved it ; 1 had bound my-
self to secresy ; the seal is taken Jrom my lips in order
to be set upon my tomb. Ernest, beloved Ernest — ^be-
loved till the last breath is extinct — ^till the last throb
of this heart is stilled ! — write me one word of comfort
and of pardon. You will beheve what I have imper-
fectly written, for y<m ever trusted my faith, if you hare
blamed my faults. I am now comparatively happy : a
word from you will make me blessed. And fate has,
perhaps, been more merciful to both than, in our short-
sighted and querulous human vision, we might, perhaps,
Vol.. IT.-*

170 PLORfiKCE^

believe ; for, now that the frame is brouglit low, and, m
Hie solitude of m^ chamber, I can duly and humbly
commune with mme own heart, I see the aspect of
those faults which I once mistook for virtues, and feel
that, had we been united, I, loving you ever, might noi
have constituted your happiness, and so have known
the misery of losing your affection. May He who
formed you for glorious and yet all unaccomplished
purposes strengthen you when these eyes can no long-
er sparkle at your triumphs or . weep at your lightest
sorrow. You will go on in your broad and luminous
career. A few years, and my remembrance will haie
left but the vestige of a dream behind ; but — but — I can
write no more. God bless you !"

CHAPTER V.

" Oh stop this headlong current of your goodness ;
It comes too fast upon a feeble soul."

. I7RYDiirN's Sebastian and Doras.

The smooth physician had paid his eveoifng visit.
Lord Saxingham h®:d gone to a cabinet dinner^ for life
must ever walk si^ by side with death ; and Lady Flor-
ence Lascelles was alone. It was a room adjoining her
sleeping apartment— a room in which, in the palmy days
of the brilliant and wayward heiress, she h^d loved to
display her fanciful and peculiar taste. • T-h^re* bad she
been accustomed to muse, to write, to study ; t^^e had
she first been dazzled by the novel glow of Ernest's UQ-
diumeU and stately thoughts ; there had she first con-
ceived the romance of girlhood, which had led her to
confer with him unknown ; there had she first confessed
to herself that fancy had begotten love ; there had she
gone through love's short and exhausting progress of
lone emotion; the doubt, the hope, the ecstasy ; there-
verse, the terror ; the inanimate despondency, the ago-
nized despair! and there, now, sadly and patiently
she awaited the gradual march of inevitable decay.
And books, and pictures, and musical instruments, and
marble busts, half shadowed by classic draperies, and
all the-dehcate ele^anc^^s of womanly refinement, still

plorbncEk 171

•

IfiTested the chamber with a grace as cheerful as if
youth and beauty were to be the occupants for ever ;
and the dark and noisome vault were not the only last-
ing residence for the things of clay !

Florence Lascelles was dying ; but not, indeed, wholly
of that common, if mystic malady, a broken heart. Her
liealth — always delicate, because always preyed upon
by a nervous, irritable, and feverish spirit — had been
^adually and invisibly undermined even before Ernest
confessed his love. In the singular lustre of those
large-pupilled eyes, in the luxuriant transparency of
that glorious bloom, the experienced might long since
have traced the seeds which cradle death. In the night,
when her restless and maddened heart so imprudently
drove her forth to forestall the communication of Lum-
iey (whom she had sent to Maltravers, she scarce knew
for what object, or with what hope) — in that night she
was already in a high state of fever. The rain and the
chill struck the growing disease within ; her excitement
gave it food and fire ; delirium succeeded — and in that
most fearful and fatal of all medical errors, which robs
the frame, when it most needs strength, of the very
principle of life, they had bled her into a temporary
calm and into permanent and incurable weakness.
Consumption seized its victim. The physicians that at-
tended her were the first in London, and Lord Saxing-
ham was firmly persuaded that there was no danger.
It was not in his nature to think that death would take
so great a liberty with Lady Florence Lascelles when
there were so many poor people in the world whom
there would be no impropriety in removing from it.
But Florence knew her danger, and her high spirit did
not quail before it. Yet when Caesarini, stung beyond
endurance by the horrors of his remorse, wrote and con-
fessed all his own share of the fatal treason, though,
faithful to his promise, he concealed that of his accom-
plice ; then, ah, then she did indeed repine at her doom,
and long to look once more with'^the eyes of love and
joy upon the faco of the beautiful world. But the ill-
ness of the body usually brings out a latent poWer and
philosophy of the soul which health never knows ; and
God has mercifully ordained it as the customary lot of
nature, that, in proportion as we decline into the grave,
the sloping path is made smooth and easy to our feet ;
and every day, as the films of clay a.m removed from

172 THM ARRITAL.

OUT eyes, death loses the false aspect of the spec^,
and we fall at last into its arms as a wearied child upon
the hosom of its mother.

It was with a heavy heart that Lady Florence lis-
tened to the monotonous cUcking of the clock that an-
nounced the departure of moments few, yet not pre-
cious, still spared to her. Her face buried in her
hands, she bent over the small table beside her sofa,
and indulged her melancholy thoughts. Bowed was
the haughty crest, unnerved the elastic shape that had
once seemed born for majesty and command ; no frieikli
were near, for Florence bad never made friends. Sol-
itary had been her youth, and solitary were her dying
hours. !

As she thus sat and mused, a sound of carriage-
wheels in the street below slightly shook the room— it
ceased — ^the carriage stopped at the door. Florence
looked up. " No, no, it cannot be," she muttered ; yet
while she spoke a faint flush passed over her sunken
and faded cheek, and the bosom heaved beneath the
robe, " a world too wide for its shrunk'' proportions.
There was a silence, which to her seemed interminable,
and she turned away with a deep sigh and a chiU sink-
ing of the heart.

At this time her woman entered with a meaning aad
flurried look.

" I beg your pardon, my lady ; but — ** .

" But what V

" Mr. Maltravers has called and asked for your lady-
ship ; so, my lady, Mr. Burton sent for me, and I said
my lady is too unwell to see any one ; but Mr. Maltra?-
ers would not he denied, and he is waiting in my lord^s
library, and insisted on my coming up and 'nouncio^
him, my lady."

Now Mrs. Shinfield's words were not euphonistic nor
her voice mellifluous, but never had eloquence seemed
to Florence so effective. All youth, love, beauty, nish-
eg tack upon her at once, brightening her eyes, her
cheek, and filling up ruin with sudden and deceilfd
light. *

" Well," she said, after a pause, " let Mr. Maltravers
come up."

" Come up, my lady t Bless me ! let me just 'range
your hair ; your ladyship is really in such dish-a-bill."-
'* Best as it is, Shinfield ; he will excuse all. Go.*

THE MEETING. 173

Mrs. Shinfield shrugged her shoulders, and departed.
A few moments more — a step on the stairs, the creak-
ing of the door — and Maltravers and Florence were
again alone. He stood motionless on the threshold.
She had involuntarily risen, and so they stood oppo-
site to each other, and the lamp fell full upon her face.
Oh, Heaven ! when did that sight cease to haunt the
heart of Maltravers ! When shall that altered aspect
not pass as a ghost before his eyes ! there it is, faithful
and reproachful, alike in solitudes and in crowds ; ii is
seen in the glare of noon ; it passes dim and wan at
night, beneath the stars and the earth ; it looked into
his heart, and left its likeness there for ever and for
ever ! Those cheeks, once so beautifully r6unded, now
sunken into lines and hollows ; the livid darkness be-
neath the eyes ; the whitened lip ; the sharp, anxious,
worn expression, which had replaced that glorious and
beaming regard, from which all the life of genius, all the
sweet pride of womanhood had glowed forth, and in
which not only the intellect, but the eternity of the soul
seemed visibly wrought !

There he stood aghast and appalled. At length a low
groan broke from his lips ; he rushed forward, sank on
his knees beside her, and, clasping both her hands, sob-
bed aloud as he covered them with kisses. All the iron
of his strong nature was broken down, and his emotions,
long silenced, and now uncontrollable and resistless,
were something terrible to behold !

" Do not, do not weep so," murmured Lady Florence,
frightened by his vehemence; "I am sadly changed,
but the fault is mine. Ernest, it is mine ; best, kindest,
gentlest, how could I have been so mad ; and you for-
give me ? I am yours again, a little while yours. Ah,
do not grieve while I am so blessed !"

As she spoke her tears — tears from a source how
different from that whence broke the scorching and in-
tolerable agony of his own — fell soft upon his bejjjpd^
head and the hands that still convulsively strain*?/
Maltravers looked wildly up into her countenz
shuddered as he saw her attempt to smile. He rose
abruptly, threw himself into a chair, and coverd his face.
He was seeking by a violent effort to master himself,
and it was only by ^e heaving of his chest, and now
and then a gasp as for breath, that he betrayed the
stojrmy struggle within.

174 THB MESTINO.

Florence gazed at him a moment in bitter, in almost
selfish penitence. " And this was the man who seemed
to me so callous to the softer sympathies — this was the
heart I trampled upon — this the nature I distrusted!"
She came near him, trembling and with feeble steps;
she laid her hand upon his shoulder, and the fondness \
of lo?e came over her, and she wound her arms arotmd
him.

** It is our fate — ^it is my fate,*' said Maltravers at
last, awaking as from a hideous dream, and in a hollow /
but calm voice — '* we are the things of destiny, and the '
wheel has crushed us. It is an awful state of bein^
this human life ! What is wisdom — ^virtue — faith to
jmen — ^piety to Heaven — all the nurture we bestow on
jourselves — all our desire to win a loftier sphere, when
pve are thus the tools of the merest chance— the vic-
tims of the pettiest villany, and our very existence,
our very senses almost, at the mercy of every traitor
and every fool Vj

There was something in Ernest's voice, as Weil as in
his reflections, which appeared so unnaturally calm and
deep that it startled Florence with a fear more acute [
than his previous violence had done. He rose, iind
muttering to himself, walked to and fro, as if insensi-
ble of her presence-^rin fact he was so. At length he
stopped short, and, fixing his eyes upon Lady Florence,
said, In a whispered and ihriUing tone —

** Now, then, the name of our undoer !"

** No, Ernest, no— never, unless you promise me to
forego the purpose which I read in your eyes. He has
^:t confessed — he is penitent — I have forgiven him— yoo

will do so too !"

" His name !" repeated Maltravers, and his face, b^
fore very flushed, was unnaturally pale.

** Forgive him — ^promise me."

•* His name, I say— woman, his name !" and M^
triers stamped on the floor with fury.

^ ]% this kind ? you terrify me— you will kill mc,"
falter^ out Florence, and she sunk on the sofa ex-
hausted : her nerves, now so weakened, were perfectly
unstrung by his vehemence, and she wrung her hands
and wept piteously.

** You will not tell me his naine," said Maltravers,
■till in a loud unaltered tons. ** Be it so. I will ask 00

INWARD ANGUISH. 175

more. I can discover it myself. God the Avenger will
reveal it."

At that thought he grew more composed ; and, as
Florence wept on, the unnatural concentration and
fierceness of his mind again gave way, and, seating
himself beside her, he uttered all that could sooth, and
comfort, and console. And Florence was soon soothed !
And there, while over their heads the grim skeleton was
holding the funeral pall, they again exchanged their
TOWS, and again, with feelings fonder than of old, spoke
of love.

CHAPTER VI.

** Erichtho, then,
Breathes her dire mnrmars which enforce him bear
Her baneful secrets to the spirits of horror."

Mar LOW.

With a heavy step Maltravers ascended the stairs of
his lonely house that night, and heavily, with a sup-^
preftsed groan, did he sink upon the first chair that prof-
fered rest.

It was intensely cold. During his long interview
with Lady Florence, his servant had taken the precau-
tion to ^o to Seamore Place, and make some hasty
preparations for the owner's return. But the bedroom
fooled comfortless and bare, the curtains were taken ,-^

down, the carpets were taken up (a single man's house*
keeper is wonderfully provident in these matters : the
moment his back is turned, she bustles, she displaces,
she exults ; '' things can be put a little to rights !*0-
Even the fire would not burn clear, but gleamed sullen
and fitful from the smothering fuel. It was a large
chamber, and the lights imperfectly filled it. On the ♦
table lay parliamentary papers and pamphlets, and bills,
and presentation-books from younger authors, evidences
of the teeming business of that restless machine the
world. Ekit of all this Maltravers was not sensible : the
wirrter frost numbed not his feverish veins. His ser-
vant, who loved him, as all who saw much of Maltravers
did, fidgeted anxiouisly about the foom, and plied the

176- THE SOLITUDE INVADED.

sullen fire, and laid out the comfortable dressing-robe,
and placed wine on the table, and asked questions which
were not answered, and pressed service which was not
heeded. The little wheels of life go on, even when the
great wheel is paralyzed or broken. Maltravers was,
if I may so express it, in a kind of mental trance. His
emotions had left him thoroughly exha,usted. He felt
that torpor which succeeds, and is again the precursor
of, great wo. At length he was alone, and the sohtude
hal^ unconsciously restored him. For it may be ob-
served, that when misfortune has stricken us home, the
presence of any one seems to interfere between the
memory and the heart. Withdraw the intruder, and the
lifted hammer falls at once upon the anvil ! He rose as
the door closed on his attendant — rose with a start, and
pushed the hat from his gathered brows. He walked
for some moments to and fro, and the air of the room,
freezing as it was, oppressed him.

There are times when the arrow quivers within us—
in which all space seems too confined. Like the
wounded hart, we could fly on for ever ; there is a vague
desire of escape ; a yearning, almost insane, to get out
from our own selves : the soul struggles to flee away,
and take the wings of the morning.

Impatiently, at last, did Maltravers throw open his
window ; it communicated upon a balcony, built out to
command the wide view Which, from a certain height,
that part of the park affords. He stepped into the bal-
cony and bared his breast to the keen air. The uncom-
fortable and icy heavens looked down upon the hoar-
rime that gathered over the grass and the ghostly
boughs of the deathlike trees. All things in the world
without brought the thought of the grave, and the pause
of being, and the withering up of beauty, closer and
closer to his soul. In the palpable and griping winter,
death itself seemed to wind around him its skeleton and
joyless arms. And as thus he stood, and, wearied with
contending against, passively yielded to, the bitter pas-
sions that wrung and gnawed his heart, he heard not
a sound at the door below, nor the footsteps on the
stairs, nor knew he that a visiter was in his room, till
he felt a hand upon his shoulder, and, turning round, he
beheld the white and livid countenance of Castruccio
Oaesarini.

" It is a dreary night and a solemn hour, Maltravers,"

CJBSAIIIMI AND MALTRATBR8. Ji77

said the Italian, with a distorted smile ; ** a fitting night
and time for my interview with you."

'* Away," said Maltravers, in an impatient tone. '* I
am not at leisure for these mock l^eroics."

** Ay, but you shall hear m<& to the end. I have
watched your arrival; I have counted the hours in
which you remained with her; 1 have followed you
home. If you have human passions, humanity itself
mus^t be dried up within you, and the wild beasi in his
cavern is not more fearful to encounter. Thus, then,
I seek and brave you. Be still. Has Florence revealed
to you the name of him who belied you, and who be-
trayed herself to the death ?"

^' Ha !" said Maitravers, growing very pale, and fixing
his eyes on Caesarini, " you are not the man ; my sus-
picions lighted elsewlj^ere."

" 1 am the man. Do thy worst."

Scarce were the words uttered, when, with a fierce
cry, Maitravers threw himself on the Italian ; he tore
him from his footing, he grasped him in his arms as a
child, he literally whirled him around and on high ; and
in that maddening paroxysm it was, perhaps, but the
balance of a feather, in the conflicting elements of re-
venge and reason, which withheld Maitravers from
hurling the criminal from the fearful height on which
they stood. The temptation passed ; Csesarini leaned,
safe, unharmed, but half senseless with mingled rage
and fear, against the wall.

He was alone; Maitravers had left him ; had fled from
himself; fled into the chamber; fled for refuge from
human passions to the wing of the All Seeing and All
Present. *' Father," he groaned, sinking on his knees,
'* support me, save me : without thee I am lost !"

Slowly Cesarini recovered himself and re-entered
the apartment. A string in his brain was already loos-
ened, and, sullen and ferocious, he returned again to
goad the lion that had spared him. Maitravers had al-
ready risen from his brief prayer. With locked and
rigid countenance, with arms folded on nis breast, he
stood confronting the Italian, who advanced towards him
with a menacing brow and arm, but halted involuntarily
at the sight of that commanding aspect.

" Well, then," said Maitravers at last, with a tone
preternaturally calm and low, " you are the man. Speak
on ; what aru did you employ ?"

178 CJESARINI AND MALTRAVERS.

" Your own letter ! When, many /months ago, I
wrote to tell you of the hopes it was mine to conceive,
and to ask your opinion of her I loved, how did you an-
swer me ? With doubts, with depreciation, with covert
and pohshed scorn, of the very woman whom, with a
deUberate treachery, you afterward wrested from my
worshipping and adoring love. That letter I garbled.
I made the doubts you expressed of my happiness seem
doubts of your own. I changed the dates. I made the
letter itself appear written, not on your first acquaint-
ance with her, but subsequent to your plighted and ac-
cepted vows. Your own handwriting convicted you of
mean suspicion and of sordid motives. These were
my arts."

" They were most noble. Do you abide by them, or
repent ?"

" For what I have done to thee I have no repentance.
Nay, I regard thee still as the aggressor. Thou hast
robbed me of her who was all the world to me ; and, be
thine excuses what they may, I hate thee with a hate
that cannot slumber — that abjures the abject name of
remorse. I exult in the very agonies thou endurest.
But for her, the stricken, the dying ! O God, O God !
The blow falls upon mine own head !"

" Dying l" said Maltravers, slowly, and with a shudder.
" No, no — not dying — or what art thou 1 Her murderer !
And what must I be ? Her avenger !"

Overpowered with his own passions, Caesarini sank
down, and covered his face with his clasped hands.
Maltravers stalked gloomily to and fro the apartment.
There was silence for some moments.

Ai length Maltravers paused opposite Caesarini, and
thus addressed him.

" You have come hither, not so much to confess the
basest crime of which man can be guilty, as to gloat
over my anguish, and to brave me to revenge my
wrongs. Go, man, go ; for the present you are safe.
While she lives, my life is not mine to hazard ; if she
recover, I can pity you and forgive. To me your of-
fence, foul though it be, sinks below contempt itself. It

is the consequences of that crime as they relate to to

— ^that noble and suffering woman, which can alone
raise the despicable into the tragic, and make your life
a worthy and a necessary offering, not to revenge, but

CiESARlNI AND MALf RAVERS. 179

Justice : life for life, victim for victim. 'Tis the old
law — 'tis a righteous one."

" You shall not, with your accursed coldness, thus
dispose of me as you will, and arrogate the option to
smite oi[ save. No," continued Caesarini, stamping his
foot ; " no ; far from seeking forbearance at your hands,
I dare and defy you. You think I have injured you ; I,
on the other hand, consider the wrong has come from
you. But for you, she might have loved me, have been
mine. Let that pass. But for you, at least it is certain
that I should neither have sullied my soul with a vile
sin, nor brought the brightest of human beings to the
grave. If she dies, the murder may be mine, but you
were the cause, the devil that tempted to the offence.
I defy and spit upon you ; I have no softness left in me ;
my veins are fire ; my heart thirsts for blood. You —
you — have still the privilege to see, to bless, to tend
her ; and I — I, who loved her so — who could have kissed
the earth she trod on — I — well, well, no matter — I hate
you — I insult you — I call you villain and dastard — I
throw myself on the laws of honour, and I demand that
conflict you defer or deny."

" Home, doter, home ; fall on thy knees, and pray
to Heaven for pardon ; make up thy dread account ;
repine not at the days yet thine to wash the black spot
from thy soul. For, while I speak, I foresee too well
that her da5''s are numbered, and with her thread of life
is entwined thine own. Within twelve hours from her
last moment we meet again ; but now I am as ice and
stone ; thou canst not move me. Her closing life shall
not be darkened by the aspect of blood— by the thought
of the sacrifice it demands. Begone, or menials shall
cast thee from my door; those lips are too base to
breathe the same air as honest men. Begone, I say ;
begone '"

Though scarce a muscle moved in the lofty counte-
nance of Maltravers — though no frown darkened the
majestic brow — though no fire broke from the steadfast
and scornful eye, there was a kingly authority in the
aspect, in the extended arm, the stately crest, and a
power in the swell of the stern voice, which awed and
quelled the unhappy being whose own passions exhaust-
ed and unrtianned him. He strove to fling back scorn .
to scorn, but his lips trembled, and his voice died in
hollow murmurs within his breast. Maltravers regard-

J 60 SBLF-C0NQUB8T.

ed him with a croshiog and intense disdain. The Ital-
ian, with shame and wrath, wrestled against himself, but
in vain ; the cold eye thai was fixed upon him was as
a spell, which the fiend within him could not rebel
agamst or resist. Mechanically he moved to the door;
then, turning round, he shook his clinched hand at Mal-
travers, and, with a wild, hysterical laugh, rushed from
the apartment.

CHAPTER VII.

** On MOM fond breait Um parting toul relies."

Gbat.

Not a day passed in which Maltravers was absent
from the side of Florence. He came early, he went
late. He subsided into his former character of an ac-
cepted suiter, without a word of explanation with Lord
Saxingham. That task was left to Florence. She
doubtless performed it well, for his lordship seemed
satisfied, though grave, and, almost for the first time in
his life, sad. Maltravers never reverted to the cause of
their unhappy dissension. Nor from that night did he
once give way to whatever might be his more agonized
and fierce emotions ; he never after afifected to reproach
himself; he never bewailed with a vain despair their ap-
proaching separation. . Whatever it cost him, he stood
collected and stoical in the intense power of his self-
control. He had but one object, one desire, one hope,
to save the last hours of Florence Lascelles from every
pang; to brighten and smooth the passage across the
solemn bridge. His forethought, his presence of mind,
his care, his tenderness, never forsook him for an in-
stant ; they went beyond the attributes of men ; they
went into all the fine, the indescribable minutiae by
which woman makes herself " in pain and anguish'' the
" ministering angel." It was as if he had nerved and
braced his whole nature to one duty ; as if that duty
were more felt than affection itself; as if he were re-
solved that Florence should not remember that she hd
nomoih€r!

FAITH. 181

And oh, then, how Florence loved hun ! how far more
loxurious in its grateful and clinging fondness was that
love, than the wild and jealous fire of their earlier con-*
nexion. Her own character, as is often the case in
lingering illness, became incadculably more gentle and
softened down as the shadows closed around it. She
loved to make him read and talk to her ; and her ancient
poetry of thought now grew mellowed, as it were, into
religion, which is indeed poetry with a stronger wins
There was a world beyond the grave ; there was life
out of the chrjTsalis sleep of death ; they would yet be
united. And Maltravers, who was a solemn and intense
believer in the Grbat Hopc, did not neglect the purest
and highest of all the fountains of solace.

Often, in that quiet room, in that gorgeous mansiouy
which had been the scene of all vain or worldly schemes,
of flirtations and feastings, and poUtical meetings and
cabinet dinners, and all the bubbles of the passing wave,
often there did these persons, whose position to each
other had been so suddenly and so strangely changed,
converse on those matters, daring and divme, which
^make the bridal of the earth and sky."

" How fortunate am I," said Florence, one day, "that
my choice fell on one who thinks as you do ! How
your words elevate and exalt me! yet once I never
dreamed of questioning your creed on these questions.
It is in sorrow or sickness that we learn why faith was
given as a soother to man ; faith, which is hope with a
holier name ; hope that knows neither deceit nor death.
Ah, how wisely do you speak of the philosophy of be-
lief! It is, indeed, the telescope which leads our vision
to the stars. And to you, Ernest, my beloved, compre-
hended and known at last, to you I leave, when I am
gone, that monitor, that friend; you will know yourself
what you teach to me. And when you look not on the
heaven alone, but in all space, on all the illimitable crea-
tion, jrou will know that I am there ! For the home of
a spirit is wherever spreads the universal presence of
God. And to what numerous stages of being, what
paths, what duties, what active and glorious tasks in
other worlds may we not be reserved ; perhaps to know
and share them together, and mount age after age higher
in the scale of being. For surely in Heaven there is
no pause or torpor ; we do not ue do¥m in calm and
unimprovable repgse. Movement and progress will re-

VoL. n.- '

182 THK NBW tORD TARGSATB.

main the law and condition of existence. And tibere
will be efforts and duties for us above as there ha?0
been below."

It was in this theory, which Maltravers shared, that
the character of Florence, her overflowing life and ac-
tivity of thought, her aspirations, her ambition, were
still displayed. It was not so much to the calm aod
rest of the grave that she extended her unreluctantgue,
as to the light and glory of a renewed and progressiye
existence.

It was while thus they sat, the low voice of Ernest,
tranquil yet half trembling with the emotions he sought
to restrain, sometimes sobering, sometimes yet more
elevating the thoughts of Florence, that Lord Vargrave
was announced, and Lumley Ferrers, who had now suc-
ceeded to that title, entered the room. It was the first
time that Florence had seen him since the death of his
uncle, the first time Maltravers had seen him since the
evening so fatal to Florence. Both started ; Madtravers
rose and walked to the window. Lord Vargrave todi
the hand of his cousin, and pressed it to his lips in silence,
while his looks betokened feelings that for once were
genuine.

" You see, Lumley, I am resigned," said Florence,
with a sweet smile. '^ I am resigned and happy."

Lumley glanced at Maltravers, and met a cold, scru-
tinizing, piercing eye, from which he shrank with some
confusion. He recovered himself in an instant.

" I am rejoiced, my cousin, I am rejoiced," said he,
very earnestly, " to see Maltravers here again. Letns
now hope the best."

Maltravers walked deliberately up to Lumley, " Will
you take my hand now too ?" said he, with deep mean-
mg in his tone.

" More wilHngly than ever," said Lumley ; and he did
not quail before Ernest's eye.

"I am satisfied," replied Mahravers, after a pause,
and in a voice that expressed more than his words.

There is in some natures so great a hoard of gener-
osity, that it often dulls their acuteness. MaltraveB
could not believe that frankness could be wholly a mask
—it was an hypocrisy he knew not of. He himself
was not incapable, had circumstances so urged him, of
great crimes ; nay, the design of one crime lay at that
moment deadly and dark within his heart, for he had

PROSPECTS ON BOTH SIDES THE GRATE. 183

some passions whicK in so resoiiite a character coiild
produce, should the wind waken^them into storm, dire
and terrible effects. Even at the age of thirty, it was
yet uncertain whether Ernest Maltravers might become
an exemplary or an evil man. But he could sooner
have strangled a foe than taken the hand of a man whom
he had once betrayed.

" I love to think you friends," said Florence, gazing
at them affectionately, ** and to you at least, Lumley,
such friendship should be a blessing. I always loved
3rou much and dearly, Lumley ; loved you as a brother,
Uiough our characters often jarred."

Lumley winced. " for Heaven's sake," he ^ried,
*' do not speak thus tenderly to me ; I cannot bear it,
and look on you and think — ^'

'* That I am dying. Kind words become us best
when our words are approaching to the last. But
enough of this — I grieved for your loss."

^ My poor uncle," said Lumley, eagerly changing the
conversation ; ** the shock was sudden ; and melancholy
duties have absorbed me so till this day, that I could
not come even to you. It soothed me, however, to
learn, in answer to my daily inquiries, that Ernest was
here. For my part," he added, with a faint smile, " I
have had duties as well as honours devolved on me. I
am left guardian to an heiress, and betrothed to a child."

" How do you mean 1"

•* Why, my poor uncle was so fondly attached to his
wife's daughter that he has left her the bulk of his prop-
erty: a very small estate — not 3000/. a year— ^oes
with the title (a new title, too, which requires twice
as much to carry it off and make its pinchbeck pass for
gold). In order, however, to serve a double purpose,
secure to his protegee his own beloved peerage, and
atone to his nephew for the loss of wealth, he has left
it a last request that I should marry the young lady
over whom I am appointed guardian when she is eigh-
teen—alas ! I shall then be at the other side of forty!
If she does not take to so mature a bridegroom, she
loses thirty, only thirty, of the 300,000/. settled upon
her, which goes to me as a sugarplum after the nause-
ous thought of the young lady's * No.' Now you know
all. His widow, really an exemplary young woman,
has a jointure of 1500/. a year and the villa. It Is not
much, but she is contented."

184 LOTl WITHOUT ROPB.

The lightness of the new peer^s tone revolted Mai-
trayers, and he turned impatiently away. But Loid
Vargraye, resolving not to suffer the conversation to
glide back to sorrowful subjects, which he alwa3rs hated,
turned round to Ernest and said, '^ Well, my dear Er-
nest, I see by the papers that you are to have N ^

late appointment — ^it is a very rising office. I congratu-
late you."

" I have refused," said Maltravers, dryly.

" Bless me ! indeed ! — ^why 1"

Ernest bit his lip and frowned ; but his glance wan-
dering unconsciously at Florence, Lumley thought he
detected the true reply to his question, and became
mute.

The conversation was afterward embarrassed and
broken up ; Lumley went away as soon as he could,
and Lady Florence that night had aisevere fit, and could
not leave her bed the next day. That confinement she
had struggled against to the last ; and now, day by day,
it grew more frequent and inevitable. The steps of
death became accelerated ; and Lord Saxingham^ wa-
kened at last to the mournful truth, took bis place bf
his daughter's side, and forgot that he was a cah^
minister.

CHAPTER VIIL

'* Away, my friends ; whv take such' pains to know
What some brave marble soon in church shall show." >

Ckabbs.

It may seem strange, but Maltravers had never loved
Lady Florence as he did now. Was it the perversity of
human nature, that makes the things of mortality dearer
to us in proportion as they fade from our hopes, like
birds whose hues are only unfolded when they take
wing, and vanish amid the skies ; or was it that he had
ever doted more on loveliness of mind than of form, and
the first bloomed out the more, the more the last de-
cayed! A thing to protect, to sooth, to 8heher-H)h,
how dear it is to the pride of men ! The haughty wo-
man who can stand alone, and requires no leaning-plact
in our heart, loses the spell of her sex.

COLD INTIMACIES. 185

1 pass over those stages of decline gratuitously pain-
ful to record, and which, in this case, mine cannot be
the cold and technical hand to trace. At length came
that time when physicians could define within a few
days the final hour of release. And latterly the mock-
ing pruderies of rank had been lain aside, and Maltrav-
ers had, for some hours at least in the day, taken his
"watch beside the couch to which the admired and bril-
liant Florence LasceUes was now almost constantly re-
duced. But her high and heroic spirit was with her to
the last. To the last she could endure, love, and hope.
One day, when Maltravers left his post, she besought
him, with more solemnity than usual, to return that
evening. She fixed the precise hour, and she sighed
heavily when he departed. Maltravers paused in the
hall to speak to the physician, who was just leaving
Xord Saxingham's library. Ernest spoke to him for
some moments calmly, and, when he heard the fiat, he
betrayed no other emotion than a slight quiver of the
lip ! "I must not weep for her yet," he muttered, as
he turned from the door. He w<ent thence to the house
of a gentleman of his own age, with whom he had form-
ed that kind of acquaintance which never amounts to
familiar friendship, but rests upon mutual respect, and
is often more ready than professed friendship itself to
confer mutual service. Colonel Danvers was a man
who usually sat next to Maltravers in parliament ; they
voted together, and thought alike on principles both of
politics and honour ; they would have lent tnousands to
each other without bond or memorandum ; and neither
ever wanted a warm and indignant advocate when he
was abused behind his back in the presence of the other.
Yet their tastes and ordinary habits were not congenial ;
and when they met in the streets, they never said, as
they would to companions they esteemed less, '* Let us
spend the day together." Such forms of acquaintance
are not uncommon among honourable men who have
already formed habits and pursuits of their own, which
they cannot surrender even to friendship. Colonel
Danvers was not at home — they believed he was at his
club in St. James's-street. Thither Maltravers bent his
way. On arriving, he found that Danvers had beeil at
the club an hour ago, and left word that he should
shortly return. Maltravers entered and quietly sat
down* The room was full of its daily loimgers; but

t86 THB GL17B-ROOX«

he did not shrink from, he did not even heed, the crowd.
He felt not the desire of solitude — ^there was solitude
enough within him. Several distinguished public men
were there, grouped around the fire, and many of the
hangers-on and satellites of political life ; they were
talkmg with eagerness and animation, for it was a sea-
son of great party conflict. Strange as it may seeno,
though Maltravers was then scarcely sensible of thev
conversation, it all came back vividly and faithfully on
him afterward, in the first hours of reflection on his own
future plans, and served to deepen and consolidate his
disgust of the world. They were discussing the char-
acter of a great statesman, whom, wanned but by the
loftiest and purest motives, they were unable to under-
stand. Theur gross suspicions, their coarse jealousies,
their calculations of patriotism by place — ^all that strips
the varnish from the face of that fair harlot, Pohticil
Ambition, sunk like caustic into his spirit. A gentle-
man, seeing him sit silent, with his hat over his moody
brow, civilly extended to him the paper he was reading.

"It is the second edition; you will find the last
French express."

"Thank you," said Maltravers; and the civil man
started as he heard the brief answer ; there was some-
thing so inexpressibly prostrate and broken-spirited in
the voice that uttered it.

Maltravers's eyes fell mechanically on the column,
and caught his own name. That work which, in the
fair retirement of Temple Grove, it had so pleased Urn
to compose — and in every page and every thought of
which Florence had been consulted — which was so in-
separably associated with her image and glorified bf
the hght of her kindred genius — ^was just published. It
had been completed long since : but the publisher had,
for some excellent reason of the craft, hitherto delayed
its appearance. Maltravers knew nothing of its publi-
cation— he had meant, after his return to town, to hate
sent to forbid its appearance ; but his thoughts of late
had crushed everything else out of his memory— he
had forgotten its existence. And now, in all the pomp
and parade of authorship, it was sent into the woiid.^
Now, now, when it was like an indecent mockery of the
bed of death — a sacrilege, an impiety ! There is a ter-
rible disconnexion between the author and the man-^
the author's life and the man's life— the eras of visible

THX WASP LBATB8 ITS UTINO. 187

triumph may be those of the most intolerable, thotigh
unreyealed and unconjectm^d auguish. The book that
delighted us to compose may first come to the world
In the hour when all things under the sun are joyless.
This had been Ernest Maltravers's most favoured work.
It had been conceived in a hs^py hour of great ambi-
tion ; it had been executed with that desire of truth
which in the mind of genius becomes Art. How little,
in the solitary hours stolen from sleep, had he thought
of self, and that labourer's hire called '* fame ;" how
had he dreamed that he was promulgating secrets to
make his kind better, and wiser, and truer to the great
aims of life ! How had Florence, and Florence alone,
understood the beatings of his heart in every page !
And now ! It so chanced that the work was reviewed
in the paper he read ; it was not only a hostile criticism,
it was a personally abusive diatribe, a virulent invec-
tive. All the motives that can darken or defile were
ascribed to him. All the mean spite of some mean
mind was sputtered forth. Had the writer known the
awful blow that awaited Maltravers at that time, it is
not in man's nature but that he would have shrunk from
this petty ^all upon the wrung withers ; but, as I have
said, there is a terrible disconnexion between the author
and the man. The first is always at our mercy, of
the last we know nothing. At such an hour Maltrav-
ers could feel none of the contempt that proud, none
of the wrath that vain minds feel at these small stings.
He could feel nothing but an undefined abhorrence oi
the worH, and of the aims and objects he had pursued
so long. Yet that even he did not then feel. He was
in a dream ; but, as men remember dreams, so, when he
awoke, did he loathe his own former aspirations, and
sicken at ti^eir base rewards. It was the first time
since his first year of inexperienced authorship that
abuse had had the power even to vex him for a moment.
But here, when the cup was already full, was the drop
that overflowed. The great column of his past world
was gone, and all else seemed crumbling away.

At length Colonel Danvers entered. Maltravers
drew him aside, and they left the club.

" Danvers," said the latter, " the time in which I told
yon I should need your services is near at hand — ^let
me see you, if possible, to-night."

'* Certainly ; I shall be at the house till eleven. Af-
ter that hour you will find me at home."

188 DXrXLLIKO*

" I thank you."

" Cannot this matter be arranged amicably V

" No, it is a quarrel of Ufe and death."

" Yet the world is really growing too enlightened for
these old mimicries of single combat."

** There are some cases in which human nature and
its deep wrongs will be ever stronger than the worid
and its philosophy. Duels and wars belong to the same
principle ; both are sinful on light grounds and poor pre-
texts. But it is not sinful for a soldier to defend his
country from invasion, nor for man, with a man's heart,
to vindicate truth and honour with his life. The rob-
ber that asks me for money I am allowed to shoot Is
the robber that tears from me treasures nei^er to be re-
placed to go free % These are the inconsisitencies of a
pseudo-etMcs, which, as long as we are made of flesh
and blood, we can never subscribe to."

'*Yet the ancients," said Danvers, with a smile,
'* were as passionate as ourselves, and they dispensed
with duels."

" Yes, because they resorted to assassination. Per-
haps," a4ded Maltravers, with a gloomy frown, " thej
took the wiser, if not the nobler course of justice. iJs
in revolutions all law is suspended, so are there stormy
events and mighty injuries in life which are as revolu-
tions to individuals. Enough of this ; it is no time to
argue like the schoolmen. When we meet you shall
know all, and you will judge like me. Grood-day !"

" What, are you ^oing already ? Maltravers, yon
look ill ; your hand is feverish ; you should take ad-
vice."

Maltravers smiled — ^but the smile was not like his own
—shook his head, and strode rapidly away.

Three of the London clocks, one after the other, had
told the hour of nine as a tall and commanding figure
passed up the street towards Saxingham House. Fife
doors before you reach that mansion there is a crossing,
and at this spot stood a young man, in whose face yooSi
itself looked sapless and blasted. It was then March-
the third of March — ^the weather was unusually severe
and biting^ evea for that angry month. There had been
snow in the morning, and it lay white and dreary in va-
rious ridges alon^ the street. But the wind was not
still in the keen but quiet sharpness of frost ; on the
contraryi it howled almost like a hurricane through tb9

ORIEP AK9 ▼BN6EANCB. 189

desolate thoroughfares, and the lamps flickered unstead-
ily in the turbulent gusts. Perhaps it was these blasts
Wnich increased the haggardness of aspect in the young
man I have mentioned. His hair, which was much
longer than is commonly worn, was tossed wildly from
.cheeks pretematurally shrunk, hollow, and hvid; and
the frail, thin form seemed scarcely able to support it-
self against the rush of the winds.

As the tall figure, which, in its masculine stature and
proportions, and a peculiar and nameless grandeur of
bearing, strongly contrasted that of the younger man,
now came to that spot where the streets meet, it paused
abruptly.

" You are here once more, Castruccio Caesarini — ^it
is well !" said the low but ringing voice of Ernest Mal-
travers. ** This, I believe, will not be our last inter-
view to-night."

'* I ask you, sir," said Caesarini, in a tone in which
pride struggled with emotion, " I ask you to tell me
how she is — ^whcther you know — I cannot speak — "

" Your work is nearly done," answered Maltravers.
^ A few hours more, and your victim, for she is yours,
will bear her tale to the great judgment-seat. Murder-
er as you are, tremble, for your own hour approaches !"

'* She dies, and 1 cannot see her, and you are per-
mitted to that last glimpse of human perfectness ; you^
who never loved her as I did ; you ! Jiated and detested !
you — ^"

Caesarini paused, and his voice died away, choked in
his own c(nivulsive gaspings for breath.

Maltravers looked at him, from the height of his erect
and lofty form, with a merciless eye, for in this one
quarter Maltravers had shut out pity from his soul.

" Week criminal !" said he, " hear me. You received
at my hands forbearance, friendship, fostering and anx-
ious care. When your own follies plunged you into
penury, mine was the unseen hand that plucked you
from famine or the prison. I strove to redeem, and
save, and raise you, and endow your miserable spirit
with the thirst and the power of honour and independ-
ence. The agent of that wish was Florence Lascelles ;
you repaid us well ! a base and fraudulent forgery, at-
taching meanness to me, fraught with agony and death
to her. Your conscience at last smote you; youreveaK
ed to her your crime ; one spark of muihood made you

190 STTSPEirSB.

reveal it also to myself. Fresh as I was in that mo-
ment from the contemplation of the ruin you had made,
I curbed the impulse that would have crushed the life
from your bosom. I told you to live on while life was
left to her. If she recovered I could forgive, if she died
I must avenge. We entered into that solemn compact,
and in a few hours the bond will need the seal ; it is the
blood of one of us. Castruccio Caesarini, there is justice
In heaven. Deceive yourself not ; you will fall by my
hand. When the hour comes you will hear from me.
Let me pass ; I have no more now to say."

Every syllable of this speech was uttered with that
thrilUng distinctness which seems as if the depth of the
heart spoke in the voice. But Csesarini did not appear
to understand its import. He seized Maltravers by the
arm, and looked in his face with a wild and menacing
glare.

" Did you tell me she was djring ?" he said ; " I ask
vou that question, why do you not answer me 1 Oh,
by-the-way, you threaten me with your vengeance.
Know you not that I long to meet you front to front,
and to the death. Did I not tell you so ? did I not tiy
to move your slow blood ; to insult you into a conflict
in which I should have gloried? yet then you were
marble."

''Because my wrong I could forgive, and hers — ^there
was then a hope that l^s might not need the atonement
Away !"

Maltravers shook the hold of the Italian from his arm
and passed on. A wild, sharp veil of despair rang after
him, and echoed in his ear as he strode the long, dim,
solitary stairs that led to the deathbed of Florence
LasceUes.

Maltravers entered the room adjoining that whrch
contained the sufferer ; the same joom, still gaj and
cheerful, in which had been his first interview with
Florence since their reconciUation.

Here he found the physician dozing in a fauteniL
Lady Florence had fallen asleep during the last two or
three hours. Lord Saxingham was in his own apart-
ment, deeply and noisily affected, for it was not thought
that Florence could survive the night.

Maltravers sat himself quietly down. Before him,
on a table, lay several manuscript books, gayly and gor-
geojosly bound; he mechanically opencNd them, Flor*

8U87EKSB. 191

ence's fair, noble Italian charactets met his eye in
every page. Her rich and active mind ; her love for

Soetry ; her thirst for knowledge ; her indulgence ot
eep thought, spake from those pages like the ghosts of
herself. Often, underscored with the marks of her ap«
probation, he chanced upon extracts from his own works,
sometimes upon reflections by the writer herself, not
inferior in truth and depth to his own; snatches of wild
verse never completed, but of a power and energy be-
yond the delicate grace of lady-poets ; brief, vigorous
criticisms on books above the common holyday studies
of the sex ; indignant and sarcastic aphorisms on the
real world, with high and sad bursts of feeUng upon the
ideal one ; aU, checkering and enriching the varicNd vol-
umes, told of the rare gifts with which this singular
girl was endowed ; a herbal, as it were, of witherd blos-
soms that might have borne Hesperian fruits. And
sometimes, in these outpourings of the full mind and
laden heart, were allusions to himself, so tender and so
touching ; the pencilled outlines of his features traced
by memory in a thousand aspects ; the reference to
former interviews and conversations; the dates and
hours marked with a woman^s minute and treasuring
care ! all these tokens of genius and of love spoke to
him with a voice - that said — " And this creature is lost
to you for ever : you never appreciated her till the time
for her departure was irrevocably fixed !"

Maltravers uttered a deep groan ; all the past rushed
over him. Her romantic and imaginative passion for
one yet unknown ; her interest in his glory ; her zeal
for his life of Ufe ; his spotless and haughty name. It
was as if with her fame and ambition were dying also,
and henceforth nothing but conunon clay and sordid
motives were to be left on earth.

How sudden, how awfully sudden, had been the
blow! True, there had been an absence of some
months in which the change had operated. But ab-
sence is a blank ; a nonentity. He had left her in ap-
pa;rent health ; in the tide of prosperity and pride. He
saw her again — stricken down in body and temper-
chastened — humbled— dying. And this being, so bright
and lofty, how had she loved him ! Never had he been
so loved, except in that morning dream haunted by the
vision of the lost and dim-remembered Alice. Never
on earth could he be so loved again. The air and as-
pect of the whole chamber grew to him painful and op-

192 THB LIMP YLIGXER8.

pressive. It was fall of her*-*the owner ! There th«
narp, which so well became her muselike form that it
was associated with her like a part of herself! There
the pictures, fresh and glowing from her hand — ^the grace
^•the harmony — the classic and simple taste every-
where displayed !

Rosseau has left to us an immortal portrait of the
lover waiting for the first embraces of his mistress.
But to wait with a pulse as feverish, a brain as dizzy,
for her last look ; to await the moment of despair, not
of rapture ; to feel the slow and dull time as palpable a
load upon the heart, yet to shrink from your own im-
patience, and wish that the agony of suspense might
endure for ever ; this, oh, this is a picture of intense
passion ; of flesh and blood reality ; of the rare and sot
emn epochs of our mysterious life ; which had been
worthier the genius of that " Apostle of Affliction T

At length the door opened ; the favourite attendant
of Florence looked in.

" Is Mr. Maltravers there ? Oh, sir, my lady is awake
and would see you."

Maltravers rose, but his feet were glued to the ground;
his sinking heart stood still ; it was a mortal terror that
possessed him. With a deep sigh he shook off the
numbing spell, and passed to the bedside of Florence.

She sat up, jSropped by pillows, and, as he sank be-
side her, and clasped her wan, transparent hand, she
looked at him with a smile of pitying love.

" You have been very, very kind to me," she said,
after a pause, and with a voice which had altered eVen
since the last time he heard it, ** and you will be re-
warded. You have made that part of life, from which
human nature shrinks with dread, the happiest and the
brightest of all my short and vain existence. My own
adored Ernest — God bless you !"

A few grateful tears dropped from her eyes, and they
fell on the hand which she bent her lips to kiss.

'* It was not here ; not amid streets and the noisy
abodes of anxious, worldly men; nor was it in this
harsh and dreary season of the year, that I could hare
wished to look my last on earth. Could I have scea
the face of nature ; could I have watched once more
with the summer sun amid those gentle scenes we loved
80 well, death would have had no difference from slew).
But what matters it t With you there is summer and
nature everywhere."

. THS LAVIP mCKEES AKB OOB8 OXTTV 198

Maltravers raised his face, and their eyes met in si-
lence; it was a long, fixed gaze, which spoke more
than all words could. Her head dropped on his shoul-
der, and there it lay, passive and motionless, for some
moments. A soft step glided into the room — it was the
mihappy father's. He came to the other side of his
daughter, and sobbed convulsively.

She then raised herself, and even in the shades of
death a faint blush passed over her cheek.

'^ My good, dear father, what comfort will it give you
hereafter to think how fondly you spoiled your Flor-
ence!'*

Lord Saxingham could not answer ; he clasped her
in his arms and wept over her. Then he broke away
—looked on her with a shudder —

" Oh God !" he cried, " she is dead — she is dead !"

Maltravers started, and waved aside the poor old
man impatiently. The physician kindly approached,
and, taking Lord Saxingham's hand, led him from the
loom ; he went mute and obedient hke a child.

But the struggle wa3 not yet past. Florence once
more opened her eyes, and Maltravers uttered a cry of
joy. But along those eyes the film was darkening rap-
idly, as still, through the mist and shadow, they sought
the beloved countenance which hung over her, as if to
breathe Ufe into waning life. Twice her lips moved,
but her voice failed her; she shook her head sadly.

Maltravers hastily held to her mouth a cordial which
lay ready on the table near her, but scarce had it moist-
ened her lips when her whole frame grew heavier and
heavier in his clasp. Her head once more sank upon
his bosom; she twice gasped wildly for breath; and at
length, raising her hand on high, life struggled into its
expiring ray.

" There — above ! — Ernest — that name — ^Emest !"

Yes, that name was the last she uttered; she was
evidently conscious of that thought, for a smile, as her
Yoice again faltered, a sweet smile and serene, that
smile never seen but on the faces of the dying and the
dead, borrowed from a light that is not of this world,
settled slowly on her brow, her lips, her whole counte-
nance ; still she breathed, but the breath grew fainter ;
at length, without murmur, sound, or struggle, it passed
away ; the head dropped from his bosom— the form fell
from his arms— all was over !

Vol. II.— R

194 MALTIULYSllf THB AYBNOBR.

CHAPTER Vn.

*' Is this the promised end V*

It was two hours after that scene before Maltraren
left the house. It was then just on the stroke of the
first hour of morning. To him, as he walked through
the streets, and the sharp winds howled on his path, it
was as if a strange and wizard life, a mechanical life,
had passed into and supported him ; a sort of drowsy,
'^dull existence. He was like a sleep-walker, uncon-
scious of all around him ; yet his steps went safe and free;
and the one thought that possessed his being, into whidi
all intellect seemed shrunk — ^the thought, not fiery nor
vehement, but calm, stem, and solenm — the thought of
revenge, seemed, as it were, to have grown his soul it-
self. He arrived at the door of Colonel Danvers,
mounted the stairs, and, as his friend advanced to meet
him, said calmly, " Now, then, the hour has arrived."

" But what would you now?"

'^ Come with me, and you shall learn."

" Very well, my carriage is below. Will you direct
the servants ?"

Maltravers nodded, gave his orders to the careless
footman, and the two friends were soon driving through
the less-known and courtly regions of the giant city.
It was then that Maltravers concisely stated to Danyeis
the fraud that had been practised by Ceesarini.

" You will go with me now," concluded Maltravew,
^' to his house. To do him justice, he is no coward ; he
has not shrunk from giving me his address, nor will he
shrink from the atonement I demand. I shall wait he-
low while you arrange our meeting— at daybreak for
to-morrow."

Danvers was astonished and even appaDed by the
discovery made to him. There was something so unu-
sual and strange in the whole afiair. But neither his
experience nor his principles of honour could suggest
any alternative to that proposed. He suppressed any
objections he might form, and pressed his friend's hand.

ICALTRATBRS THE AYSNGBR. 195

They sank into silence till the carriage stopped at a
door in a narrow lane in an obscure suburb. Yet dark
as all the houses around were, lights were seen in the
upper windows of Csesarini's residence, passing to and
fro ; and scarce had the servant's loud 'knock echoed
through the dim thoroughfare ere the door was opened.
Danvers descended and entered the passage—" Oh, sir,
I am so glad you are come !" said an old woman, pale
and trembling ; " he do take on so !"

" There is no mistake," asked Danvers, halting ; " an
Italian gentleman named Oaesarini lodges here V

" Yes, sir, poor cretur — ^I sent for you to come to him
—for says I to my boy, says I — "

" Whom do you take me for V

" Why, la, sir, you he's the doctor, ben't you ?"

Danvers made no reply ; he had a mean opinion of
the courage of one who could act dishonourably; he
thought there was some design to cheat his friend out
of his revenge ; accordingly, he ascended the stairs, mo-
tioning the woman to precede him.

He came back to the door of the carriage in a few
minutes. " Let us go home, Maltravers," said he ; " this
man is not in a state to meet you."

"Ha!" cried Maltravers, frowning darkly, and aU his
long-smothered indignation rushing like fire through ev-
ery vein of his body ; " would he shrink from the atone-
ment ?" He pushed Danvers impatiently aside, leaped
from the carriage, and rushed up stairs.

Danvers followed.

Heated, wrought up, furious, Ernest Maltravers burst
into a small and squalid chamber ; from the closed doors
of which, through man^r chinks, had gleamed the light
that told him Cssarini was within. And Caesarini's
eyes, blazing with horrible fire, were the first object
that met his gaze. Maltravers stood still as if frozen
into stone.

" Ha ! ha !" laughed a shrill and shrieking voice, which
contrasted dreadly with the accents of the soft Tuscan
in which the wild words were strung — "who comes
there with garments rolled in blood ? You cannot ac-
cuse me, for my blow drew no blood ; it went straight
to the heart ; it tore no flesh by the way ; we Italians
poison our victims ! Where art thou, where art thou,
Maltravers ? 1 am ready. Coward, you do not come.
Oh, yes, yes, here you are; the pistols— I will not fight

190 OOD THB AYXNOBR.

80. I am a wild beast. Let us rend each other with
our teeth and talons."

Huddled up like a heap of confused and jointless limbs,
in the farthest comer of the room lay the wretch, a ra>
ying maniac ; two men keeping their firm gripe on him,
which, ever and anon, with the mighty strength of mad-
ness, he shook off, to fall back senseless and exhausted;
his strained and bloodshot eyes starting from their sock-
ets, the slaver gathering round his lips, his raven bail
standing on end, his delicate and symmetrical features dis-
torted into a hideous and gorgon aspect. It was, indeed,
an appalling and sublime spectacle, full of an awful
moral, the meeting of the foes ! Here stood Maltravers,
strong beyond the common strength of men, in health,
power, conscious superiority, premeditated vengeance,
wise, gifted ; all his faculties ripe, developed at his com-
mand ; the complete and all-armed man, prepared for
defence and offence against every foe ; a man who, once
roused in a righteous quarrel, would not have quailed be-
fore an army ; and there and thus was his dark and fierce
purpose dashed from his soul, shivered into atoms at his
feet. He feh the nothingness of man and man's wrath
in the presence of the msdman on whose head the tbmi-
derbohs of a greater curse than human anger ever
breathes had fallen. In his horrible affliction the crim-
inal triumphed over the avenger !

" Yes, yes !" shouted Caesanni again ; " they tell me
she is dying, but he is by her side ; phick him thence
— he shall not touch her hand — she shall not bless him
— she is mine ; if I killed her, I have saved her from
him ; she is mine in death. Let me in, I say ; I will
come in ; I will, I will see her, and strangle him at her
feet." With that, by a tremendous effort, he tore him-
self from the clutch of his holders, and with a sudden
and exultant bound he sprang across the room, and
stood face to face to Maltravers. The proud brave
man turned pale and recoiled a step. " It is he, it is he !"
shrieked the maniac, and he leaped like a tiger at the
throat of his rival. Maltravers quickly seized his arm,
and whirled him round, and he fell heavily on the floor,
mute, senseless, and in strong convulsions.

"Mysterious Providence," murmured Maltravers,
" thou hast justly rebuked the mortal for dreaming be
might arrogate to himself thy privilege of vengeance.
Forgive the sinner, oh God, as I do, as thou teachest

THX 8TRETCHBD CORD 8NAP8. 197

this stobborn heart to forgive, as she forgave who is
now with thee, a blessed saint in heaven !"

When, some minutes afterward, the doctor, who had
been sent for, arrived, the head of the stricken patient
lay on the lap of his foe, and it was the hand of Mal-
travers that wiped the froth from the white lips, and the
voice of Maltravers that strove to sooth, ana the tears
of Maltravers that were falling on that fiery brow.

" Tend him, sir, tend him as my brother," said Mal-
travers, hiding his face as he resigned the charge.
*' Let him have all that can alleviate and cure ; remove
him hence to some fitter abode ; send for the best ad-
vice. Restore him, and — and — ^" He could say no
more, but left the room abruptly.

It was afterward ascertained that Csesarini had re-
mained in the streets after his short interview with Er-
nest ; that, at length, he had knocked at Lord Saxing-
ham^s door just in the very hour when death h^
claimed its victim. He heard the announcement, he
sought to force his way up stairs, they thrust him from
the house, and nothing more of him was known till he
arrived at his own door an hour before Danvers and
Maltravers came, in raging phrensy. Perhaps by one
of the dim erratic gleams Si light which alwsjys checker
the darkness of insanity, he retained some faint remem-
brance of his compact and assignation with Maltravers,
which had happily guided his steps back to his abode.

It was two months after this scene, a lovely Sabbath
morning in the earliest May, as Lumley, Lord Var-
l^rave, sat alone by the window in his late uncle's villa,
m his late uncle's easy-chair; his eyes were resting
musingly on the green lawn on which the windows
opened, or rather on two forms that were seated upon
a rustic bench in the middle of the sward. One was
the widow in her weeds, the other was that fi^r and
lovely child destined to be the bride of the new lord.
The hands of the mother and daughter were clasped
each in each. There was sadness in the faces of both,
deeper, yet more resigned on that of the elder, for the
child sought to console her parent, and grief in child-
hood comes with a butterfly's wing.

Lumley gazed on them both, and on the child more
earnestly.

198 THB PROSPlROtrS HAK.

She is very lovely," he said; "she will be veiy
rich. After all, I am not to be pitied. I am a peer,
and I have enough to live upon at present. I am a
rising man ; our party wants peers ; and though I could
not have hstd more than a subaltern's seat at the treas-
ury board six months ago, when I was an active,
zealous, able commoner, now that I am a lord, with
what they call a stake in the country, 1 may open my
mouth, and — ^bless me ! — ^I know not how many windfalls
may drop in ! My uncle was wiser than I thought in
wrestling for this peerage, which he won and I wear!
Then, by-and-by, just at the age when I want to marry
and have an heir (and a pretty wife saves one a vasl
deal of trouble), 200,000/. and a young beauty 1 Come,
come, I have strong cards in my hands if I play them
tolerably. I must take care that she faUs desperately
in love with me. Leave me alone for that ; I know the
sex, and have never failed except in — ah, that poor
Florence ! Well, it is no use regretting ! Like thrifty
artists, we must }>aint out the unmarketable incture, and
cull luckier creations to fill up the same canvass !"

Here the servant interrupted Lord Vargrave's medi-
tation by bringing in the letters and the newspapers
which had, just been forwarded from his town house.
Lord Vargrave had spoken in the lords on the previous
Friday, and he wished to see what the Sunday newspa-
pers said of his speech. So he took up one of the lead-
ing papers before he opened the letters. His eyes
rested upon two paragraphs in close neighbourhood with
each other : the first ran thus : —

" The celebrated Mr. Maltravers has abruptly re-
signed his seat for the of — — , and left town yes-
terday on an extended tour on the Continent. Specu-
lation is busy on the causes of the singular and unex-
pected self- exile of a gentleman so d^tinguished— in
the very zenith of his career."

" So he has given up the game," muttered Lord Var-
grave ; " he was never a practical man ; I am glad he is
out of the way. But what's this about myself i"

" We hear that important changes are to take place
in the government ; it is said that ministers are at last
alive to the necessity of strengthening themselves with
new talent. Among other appointments confidently
spoken of in the best-informed circles, we learn that
Lord Vargrave is to have the place of *•*•**. jt ^^ i^

THB CL08B. 199

a popular appointment. Lord Vargraye is not a holyday
orator, a mere declamatory rhetorician, but a man of
clear business-like views, and was highly thought of in
the House of Commons. He has ^so the art of at-
taching his friends, and his frank, manly character can-
not fail to have its due effect with the English public.
In another column of our journal our readers will see a
full report of his excellent maiden speech in the House
of Lords on Friday last: the sentiments there ex-
pressed do the highest honour to his lordship's patriotism
and sagacity. '^

" Very well, very well, indeed," said Lnmley, rubbing
his hands, and, turning to his letters, his attention ^as
drawn to one of an enormous seal, marked " Private
and confidential." He knew before he opened it that it
contained the offer of the appointment alluded to in the
newspapers. He read, and rose exultingly; passing
through the French windows, he joined Lady Yargrave
and Evelyn on the lawn, and as he smiled on the mother
and caressed the child, the scene and the group made
a pleasant picture of English domestic happiness.

Here ends the first portion of this work : it ends with
what, though rare in novels, is common in human life;
the affliction of the good, the triumph of the unprin-
cipled ; Ernest Maltravers, a lonely wanderer, disgusted
with the world, blighted prematurely in a useful and

florious ambition; '^remote, unfriended, melancholy;"
lUmley Ferrers, prosperous and elated; life smiung
before him ; rising in the councils of the proudest and
perhaps the wisest of European nations, and wrapped
m a hardy stoicism of levity and selfislmess, that not
only defied grief, but silenced conscience.

If the reader be interested in what remains — ^if he
desire to know more of the various characters which
have breathed and moved throughout this history, he
will soon be enabled to gratify ms curiosity, and com-
plete what the author believes to be a faithful survey
of the Philosophy of Human Life,

THB BRD.

14. Perils of the Sea ; being Authentic Narratives

of Remarkable and Afiecting Disasters upon the Deep. With If-
lustrations of the Power ana Goodness of God in Woiiaeiful Pr«*>
ervations. With Engravings.

15. Sketches of the Lives of Distinguished Females.

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