was, and implored that she might attend the deposed sovereigns into
exile; but that was impossible, however anxious they might be as to
the future of their favourite. Her destiny was sooner decided than they
could have anticipated. There was a member of the household, or rather
family, in Hill Street, who bore almost the same relation to Mr. Ferrars
as Sylvia to his wife. This was Mr. Rodney, a remarkably good-looking
person, by nature really a little resembling his principal, and
completing the resemblance by consummate art. The courtiers of Alexander
of Macedonia could not study their chief with more devotion, or more
sedulously imitate his mien and carriage, than did Mr. Rodney that
distinguished individual of whom he was the humble friend, and who he
was convinced was destined to be Prime Minister of England. Mr. Rodney
was the son of the office-keeper of old Mr. Ferrars, and it was the
ambition of the father that his son, for whom he had secured a sound
education, should become a member of the civil service. It had become an
apothegm in the Ferrars family that something must be done for Rodney,
and whenever the apparent occasion failed, which was not unfrequent, old
Mr. Ferrars used always to add, "Never mind; so long as I live, Rodney
shall never want a home." The object of all this kindness, however, was
little distressed by their failures in his preferment. He had implicit
faith in the career of his friend and master, and looked forward to the
time when it might not be impossible that he himself might find a haven
in a commissionership. Recently Mr. Ferrars had been able to confer
on him a small post with duties not too engrossing, and which did not
prevent his regular presence in Hill Street, where he made himself
generally useful.

If there were anything confidential to be accomplished in their domestic
life, everything might be trusted to his discretion and entire devotion.
He supervised the establishment without injudiciously interfering with