it as my forefathers served,--and my answer would be the scars on my
breast."

"Is it only in danger that a country is served, only in war that duty is
fulfilled? Do you think that your father, in his plain, manly life of
country gentleman, does not fulfil, though perhaps too obscurely, the
objects for which aristocracy is created, and wealth is bestowed?"

"Doubtless he does, ma'am,--and better than his vagrant son ever can."

"Yet his vagrant son has received such gifts from nature, his youth was
so rich in promise, his boyhood so glowed at the dream of glory!"

"Ay," said Harley, very softly, "it is possible,--and all to be buried in
a single grave!"

The countess started, and withdrew her hand from Harley's shoulder.

Lady Lansmere's countenance was not one that much varied in expression.
She had in this, as in her cast of feature, little resemblance to her
son.

Her features were slightly aquiline,--the eyebrows of that arch which
gives a certain majesty to the aspect; the lines round the mouth were
habitually rigid and compressed. Her face was that of one who had gone
through great emotion and subdued it. There was something formal, and
even ascetic, in the character of her beauty, which was still
considerable, in her air and in her dress. She might have suggested to
you the idea of some Gothic baroness of old, half chatelaine, half-
abbess; you would see at a glance that she did not live in the light