them in the covert with more sacred impunity. And he enjoyed his
reputation for virtue as something additional. Stolen fruits are said to
be sweet; undeserved rewards are exquisite.

The best of it was, that Adrian made no pretences. He did not solicit
the favourable judgment of the world. Nature and he attempted no other
concealment than the ordinary mask men wear. And yet the world would
proclaim him moral, as well as wise, and the pleasing converse every way
of his disgraced cousin Austin.

In a word, Adrian Harley had mastered his philosophy at the early age of
one-and-twenty. Many would be glad to say the same at that age twice-
told: they carry in their breasts a burden with which Adrian's was not
loaded. Mrs. Doria was nearly right about his heart. A singular mishap
(at his birth, possibly, or before it) had unseated that organ, and
shaken it down to his stomach, where it was a much lighter, nay, an
inspiring weight, and encouraged him merrily onward. Throned there it
looked on little that did not arrive to gratify it. Already that region
was a trifle prominent in the person of the wise youth, and carried, as
it were, the flag of his philosophical tenets in front of him. He was
charming after dinner, with men or with women: delightfully sarcastic:
perhaps a little too unscrupulous in his moral tone, but that his moral
reputation belied him, and it must be set down to generosity of
disposition.

Such was Adrian Harley, another of Sir Austin's intellectual favourites,
chosen from mankind to superintend the education of his son at Raynham.
Adrian had been destined for the Church. He did not enter into Orders.
He and the baronet had a conference together one day, and from that time
Adrian became a fixture in the Abbey. His father died in his promising