of Chatham.

Toward morning a gentle knock fell at his door. Lady Blandish glided in.
With hasty step she came straight to him, and took both his hands.

"My friend," she said, speaking tearfully, and trembling, "I feared I
should find you here. I could not sleep. How is it with you?"

"Well! Emmeline, well!" he replied, torturing his brows to fix the mask.

He wished it had been Adrian who had come to him. He had an
extraordinary longing for Adrian's society. He knew that the wise youth
would divine how to treat him, and he mentally confessed to just enough
weakness to demand a certain kind of management. Besides, Adrian, he had
not a doubt, would accept him entirely as he seemed, and not pester him
in any way by trying to unlock his heart; whereas a woman, he feared,
would be waxing too womanly, and swelling from tears and supplications to
a scene, of all things abhorred by him the most. So he rapped the floor
with his foot, and gave the lady no very welcome face when he said it was
well with him.

She sat down by his side, still holding one hand firmly, and softly
detaining the other.

"Oh, my friend! may I believe you? May I speak to you?" She leaned
close to him. "You know my heart. I have no better ambition than to be
your friend. Surely I divide your grief, and may I not claim your
confidence? Who has wept more over your great and dreadful sorrows? I
would not have come to you, but I do believe that sorrow shared relieves
the burden, and it is now that you may feel a woman's aid, and something