done--but I could not foresee that a mere lover's stratagem was to end
in such effects--the metaphysician was very right when he said, 'We only
sympathise with feelings we know ourselves.' A little disappointment in
love could not have hurt me much--it is d----d odd it should hurt her
so. I am altogether out of luck: old Templeton--I beg his pardon, Lord
Vargrave--(by-the-by, he gets heartier every day--what a constitution he
has!) seems cross with me. He did not like the idea that I should marry
Lady Florence--and when I thought that vision might have been realised,
hinted that I was disappointing some expectations he had formed; I can't
make out what he means. Then, too, the government have offered that
place to Maltravers instead of to me. In fact, my star is not in the
ascendant. Poor Florence, though,--I would really give a great deal to
know her restored to health!--I have done a villainous thing, but I
thought it only a clever one. However, regret is a fool's passion. By
Jupiter!--talking of fools, here comes Cesarini."

Wan, haggard, almost spectral, his hat over his brows, his dress
neglected, his air reckless and fierce, Cesarini crossed the way, and
thus accosted Lumley:

"We have murdered her, Ferrers; and her ghost will haunt us to our dying
day!"

"Talk prose; you know I am no poet. What do you mean?"

"She is worse to-day," groaned Cesarini, in a hollow voice. "I wander
like a lost spirit round the house; I question all who come from it.
Tell me--oh, tell me, is there hope?"

"I do, indeed, trust so," replied Ferrers, fervently. "The illness has