had concealed it amidst the dry leaves and moss, disturbed her so much as
the evident constraint with which Mainwaring wrote,--the cautious and
lukewarm remonstrance which answered her passionate appeal. It may be
that her very doubts, at times, of Mainwaring's affection had increased
the ardour of her own attachment; for in some natures the excitement of
fear deepens love more than the calmness of trust. Now with the doubt for
the first time flashed the resentment, and her answer to Mainwaring was
vehement and imperious. But the next day came a messenger express from
London, with a letter from Mr. Parchmount that arrested for the moment
even the fierce current of love.

When the task had been completed,--the will signed, sealed, and
delivered,--the old man had felt a load lifted from his heart. Three or
four of his old friends, bons vivants like himself, had seen his arrival
duly proclaimed in the newspapers, and had hastened to welcome him.
Warmed by the genial sight of faces associated with the frank joys of his
youth, Sir Miles, if he did not forget the prudent counsels of Dalibard,
conceived a proud bitterness of joy in despising them. Why take such
care of the worn-out carcass? His will was made. What was left to life
so peculiarly attractive? He invited his friends to a feast worthy of
old. Seasoned revellers were they, with a free gout for a vent to all
indulgence. So they came; and they drank, and they laughed, and they
talked back their young days. They saw not the nervous irritation, the
strain on the spirits, the heated membrane of the brain, which made Sir
Miles the most jovial of all. It was a night of nights; the old fellows
were lifted back into their chariots or sedans. Sir Miles alone seemed
as steady and sober as if he had supped with Diogenes. His servant,
whose respectful admonitions had been awed into silence, lent him his arm
to bed, but Sir Miles scarcely touched it. The next morning, when the
servant (who slept in the same room) awoke, to his surprise the glare of