of Figtree Court, much as he had done the year before, when the horror
of his grief was new to him, and every object in life, however trifling
or however important, seemed saturated with his one great sorrow.

But the big ex-dragoon had survived his affliction by a twelvemonth, and
hard as it may be to have to tell it, he did not look much the worse for
it. Heaven knows what wasted agonies of remorse and self-reproach may
not have racked George's honest heart, as he lay awake at nights
thinking of the wife he had abandoned in the pursuit of a fortune, which
she never lived to share.

Once, while they were abroad, Robert Audley ventured to congratulate him
upon his recovered spirits. He burst into a bitter laugh.

"Do you know, Bob," he said, "that when some of our fellows were wounded
in India, they came home, bringing bullets inside them. They did not
talk of them, and they were stout and hearty, and looked as well,
perhaps, as you or I; but every change in the weather, however slight,
every variation of the atmosphere, however trifling, brought back the
old agony of their wounds as sharp as ever they had felt it on the
battle-field. I've had my wound, Bob; I carry the bullet still, and I
shall carry it into my coffin."

The travelers returned from St. Petersburg in the spring, and George
again took up his quarters at his old friend's chambers, only leaving
them now and then to run down to Southampton and take a look at his
little boy. He always went loaded with toys and sweetmeats to give to
the child; but, for all this, Georgey would not become very familiar
with his papa, and the young man's heart sickened as he began to fancy
that even his child was lost to him.