sudden start, and walked to the window, to conceal my agitation from him.

"And so," said I, at length regaining my composure in some measure, "Sir
George also spoke of my name in connection with the senhora?"

"To be sure he did. All Lisbon does. What can you mean? But I see, my dear
boy; you know you are not of the strongest, and we've been talking far too
long. Come now, Charley, I'll say good-night. I'll be with you at breakfast
to-morrow, and tell you all the gossip; meanwhile promise me to get quietly
to bed, and so good-night."

Such was the conflicting state of feeling I suffered from that I made no
effort to detain Power. I longed to be once more alone, to think, calmly if
I could, over the position I stood in, and to resolve upon my plans for the
future.

My love for Lucy Dashwood had been long rather a devotion than a hope. My
earliest dawn of manly ambition was associated with the first hour I met
her. She it was who first touched my boyish heart, and suggested a sense
of chivalrous ardor within me; and even though lost to me forever, I could
still regard her as the mainspring of my actions, and dwell upon my passion
as the thing that hallowed every enterprise of my life.

In a word, my love, however little it might reach her heart, was everything
to mine. It was the worship of the devotee to his protecting saint. It was
the faith that made me rise above misfortune and mishap, and led me onward;
and in this way I could have borne anything, everything, rather than the
imputation of fickleness.

Lucy might not--nay, I felt she did not--love me. It was possible that some