The Duke's blithe associates, babbling aloud
Some comment upon his gay humour that day?
He never was gayer: what makes him so gay ?
'Tis, no doubt, say the flatterers, flattering in tune,
Some vestal whose virtue no tongue dare impugn
Has at last found a Mars-who, of course, shall be
nameless.

The vessel that yields to Mars only is blameless!
Hark! hears he a name which, thus syllabled, stirs
All his heart into tumult? . . . Lucile de Nevers
With the Duke's coupled gaily, in some laughing,
light,

Free allusion? Not so as might give him the right
To turn fiercely round on the speaker, but yet
To a trite and irreverent compliment set!

XVIII.

Slowly, slowly, usurping that place in his soul
Where the thought of Lucile was enshrined, did there

roll

Back again, back again, on its smooth downward

course

O'er his nature, with gather'd momentum and force, THE WORLD.

XIX.

'No!' he mutter'd, 'she cannot have sinn'd! 'True! women there are (self-named women of mind!) Who love rather liberty-liberty, yes!

To choose and to leave-than the legalized stress 'Of the lovingest marriage. But she is she so?

'I will not believe it. Lucile? Oh no, no! 'Not Lucile !

say

'But the world? and, ah, what would it O the look of that man, and his laughter, to-day! The gossip's light question! the slanderous jest! She is right! no, we could not be happy. 'As it is. I will write to her-write, O my heart! 'And accept her farewell.

part

y?

'Tis best

Our farewell! must we

'Part thus, then-for ever, Lucile? Is it so ?

"Yes! I feel it. We could not be happy, I know. ''Twas a dream! we must waken!'

XX.

With head bow'd, as though

By the weight of the heart's resignation, and slow
Moody footsteps, he turn'd to his inn.

Drawn apart

From the gate, in the courtyard, and ready to start, Postboys mounted, portmanteaus pack'd up and made

fast,

A travelling-carriage, unnoticed, he pass'd.

He order'd his horse to be ready anon;

Sent, and paid, for the reckoning, and slowly pass'd on,
And ascended the staircase, and enter'd his room.
It was twilight. The chamber was dark in the gloom
Of the evening. He listlessly kindled a light,
On the mantelpiece; there a large card caught his
sight-

A large card, a stout card, well printed and plain,
Nothing flourishing, flimsy, affected, or vain.

It gave a respectable look to the slab

That it lay on.

The name was—

SIR RIDLEY MACNAB.

Full familiar to him was the name that he saw,
For 'twas that of his own future uncle-in-law,
Mrs Darcy's rich brother, the banker, well known
As wearing the longest-philacteried gown
Of all the rich Pharisees England can boast of;

A shrewd Puritan Scot, whose sharp wits made the most of

This world and the next; having largely invested

Not only where treasure is never molested

By thieves, moth, or rust; but on this earthly ball,
Where interest was high, and security small.
Of mankind there was never a theory yet
Not by some individual instance upset :

And so to that sorrowful verse of the Psalm

Which declares that the wicked expand like the palm
In a world where the righteous are stunted and pent,
A cheering exception did Ridley present.
Like the worthy of Uz, Heaven prosper'd his piety.
The leader of every religious society,

Christian knowledge he labour'd through life to promote With personal profit, and knew how to quote

Both the stocks and the Scripture, with equal advantage To himself and admiring friends, in this Cant-Age.

XXI.

Whilst over this card Alfred vacantly brooded, A waiter his head through the doorway protruded; 'Sir Ridley MacNab with Milord wish'd to speak.' Alfred Vargrave could feel there were tears on his cheek;

He brush'd them away with a gesture of pride.

He glanced at the glass; when his own face he eyed,
He was scared by its pallor. Inclining his head,
He with tones calm, unshaken, and silvery, said
'Sir Ridley may enter.'

In three minutes more
That benign apparition appear'd at the door.
Sir Ridley, released for a while from the cares
Of business, and minded to breathe the pure airs
Of the blue Pyrenees, and enjoy his release,
In company there with his sister and niece,
Found himself now at Serchon-distributing tracts,
Sowing seed by the way, and collecting new facts
For Exeter Hall; he was starting that night

:

For Bigorre he had heard, to his cordial delight,
That Lord Alfred was there, and, himself, setting out
For the same destination: impatient, no doubt!
Here some commonplace compliments as to the
marriage'

Through his speech trickled softly, like honey: his carriage

Was ready.
A storm seem'd to threaten the weather:
If his young friend agreed, why not travel together?

With a footstep uncertain and restless, a frown Of perplexity, during this speech, up and down Alfred Vargrave was striding; but, after a pause And a slight hesitation, the which seem'd to cause Some surprise to Sir Ridley, he answer'd—' My dear 'Sir Ridley, allow me a few moments here— 'Half an hour at the most-to conclude an affair

'Of a nature so urgent as hardly to spare

My presence (which brought me, indeed, to this

Sir Ridley observed it, had pass'd through the door. A few moments later, with footsteps revealing Intense agitation of uncontroll'd feeling,

He was rapidly pacing the garden below.

What pass'd through his mind then is more than I know.

But before one half-hour into darkness had fled,

In the courtyard he stood with Sir Ridley. His tread Was firm and composed. Not a sign on his face. Betray'd there the least agitation. The place

You so kindly have offer'd,' he said, 'I accept.' And he stretch'd out his hand. The two travellers

stepp'd

Smiling into the carriage.

And thus, out of sight,

They drove down the dark road, and into the night.