"I thank you," said Castruccio, in a joyous tone, pressing his friend's
hand; and for the rest of that evening, he seemed an altered being; he
even caressed the children, and did not sneer at the grave conversation
of his brother-in-law.

When Maltravers rose to depart, Castruccio gave him the packet; and
then, utterly engrossed with his own imagined futurity of fame, vanished
from the room to indulge his reveries. He cared no longer for
Maltravers--he had put him to use--he could not be sorry for his
departure, for that departure was the Avatar of His appearance to a new
world.

A small dull rain was falling, though, at intervals, the stars broke
through the unsettled clouds, and Teresa did not therefore venture from
the house; she presented her smooth cheek to the young guest to salute,
pressed him by the hand, and bade him adieu with tears in her eyes.
"Ah!" said she, "when we meet again I hope you will be married--I shall
love your wife dearly. There is no happiness like marriage and home!"
and she looked with ingenuous tenderness at De Montaigne.

Maltravers sighed;--his thoughts flew back to Alice. Where now was that
lone and friendless girl, whose innocent love had once brightened a home
for /him/? He answered by a vague and mechanical commonplace, and
quitted the room with De Montaigne, who insisted on seeing him depart.
As they neared the lake, De Montaigne broke the silence.

"My dear Maltravers," he said, with a serious and thoughtful affection
in his voice, "we may not meet again for years. I have a warm interest
in your happiness and career--yes, /career/--I repeat the word. I do
not habitually seek to inspire young men with ambition. Enough for most