some regard for him; and whatever portion it might be, it was valuable and
extraordinary--for it was disinterested: besides, they could never cross
in their objects--and as Mr. Percy lived out of the world, and had no
connexion with any party, he was a perfectly safe man. All these thoughts
acted so powerfully upon Lord Oldborough, that he threw aside his reserve,
in a manner which would have astonished and delighted Mr. Falconer. Mr.
Percy was astonished, but not delighted--he saw a noble mind corroded and
debased by ambition--virtuous principle, generous feeling, stifled--a
powerful, capacious understanding distorted--a soul, once expatiating
and full of high thoughts, now confined to a span--bent down to low
concerns--imprisoned in the precincts of a court.

"You pity me," said Lord Oldborough, who seemed to understand Mr. Percy's
thoughts; "you pity me--I pity myself. But such is ambition, and I cannot
live without it--once and always its slave."

"A person of such a strong mind as Lord Oldborough could emancipate himself
from any slavery--even that of habit."

"Yes, if he wished to break through it--but he does not."

"Can he have utterly--"

"Lost his taste for freedom? you would say. Yes--utterly. I see you pity
me," said his lordship with a bitter smile; "and," added he, rising
proudly, "I am unused to be pitied, and I am awkward, I fear, under the
obligation." Resuming his friendly aspect, however, in a moment or two, he
followed Mr. Percy, who had turned to examine a fine picture.

"Yes; a Corregio. You are not aware, my dear sir," continued he, "that