it was the hand of Maltravers that wiped the froth from the white lips,
and the voice of Maltravers that strove to soothe, and the tears of
Maltravers that were falling on that fiery brow.

"Tend him, sir, tend him as my brother," said Maltravers, hiding his
face as he resigned the charge. "Let him have all that can alleviate
and cure--remove him hence to some fitter abode--send for the best
advice. Restore him, and--and--" He could say no more, but left the
room abruptly.

It was afterwards ascertained that Cesarini had remained in the streets
after his short interview with Ernest, that at length he had knocked at
Lord Saxingham's door just in the very hour when death had claimed its
victim. He heard the announcement--he sought to force his way
up-stairs--they thrust him from the house, and nothing more of him was
known till he arrived at his own door, an hour before Danvers and
Maltravers came, in raging frenzy. Perhaps by one of the dim erratic
gleams of light which always chequer the darkness of insanity, he
retained some faint remembrance of his compact and assignation with
Maltravers, which had happily guided his steps back to his abode.

* * * * *

It was two months after this scene, a lovely Sabbath morning, in the
earliest May, as Lumley, Lord Vargrave, sat alone, by the window in his
late uncle's villa, in his late uncle's easy-chair--his eyes were
resting musingly on the green lawn on which the windows opened, or
rather on two forms that were seated upon a rustic bench in the middle
of the sward. One was the widow in her weeds, the other was that fair
and lovely child destined to be the bride of the new lord. The hands of