Alice was not in poverty, she was not eating the unhallowed bread of
vice, or earning the bitter wages of laborious penury. He saw her in
reputable, nay, opulent circumstances. A dark nightmare, that had
often, amidst the pleasures of youth, or the triumphs of literature,
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 himself, 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 almost hoped so--it was
better to lose than to destroy her. Poor Alice! could she have dreamed,
when she sat at his feet gazing up into his eyes, that a time would come
when Maltravers would thank Heaven for the belief that she was happy
with another?

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

Meanwhile, Cesarini threw himself into the fashionable world, and to his
own surprise was /feted/ and caressed. In fact, Castruccio was exactly
the sort of person to be made a lion of. The letters of introduction
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 connection. Cesarini appeared to them as an
accomplished young man, brother-in-law to a distinguished member of the