more, and had given her notice of his intention.

We all remember Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea, and the grip of that
merciless rider tightening closer and closer the longer he was carried
by his disgusted victim. There is more truth in the fable than most of
us would like to allow. If you once permit yourself to set up an "Old
Man of the Sea," farewell to free agency, happiness, even tolerable
comfort, from that time forth! Sometimes your burden takes the shape
of a renewed bill, sometimes of a fatal secret, sometimes of an unwise
attachment, sometimes only of a bad habit; but whatever it be, the
farther you carry it the heavier it seems to grow; and in this case
custom does not in the least degree reconcile you to the infliction.
Up with your heels, and kick it off at any price! Even should you rick
your back in the process, it is better to be crippled for life than
eternally oppressed by a ruthless rider and an intolerable weight.

Gentleman Jim was becoming Lady Bearwarden's Old Man of the Sea. More
than once of late he had forced himself on her presence when it was
exceedingly inconvenient and even dangerous to meet him. The promised
interview of to-day had been extorted from her most unwillingly, and
by threats, implied if not expressed. She began to feel that she was
no longer her own mistress--that she had lost her independence, and
was virtually at the command of an inferior. To a proud nature like
hers such a situation seemed simply intolerable.

Lord Bearwarden seldom came in much before it was time to dress for
dinner; but young men's habits are not usually very regular, the
monotonous custom of doing everything by clockwork being a tedious
concomitant of old age. Maud could not calculate on his absence at any
particular hour of the day unless he were on duty, and the bare notion
that she should _wish_ thus to calculate fretted and chafed her beyond
measure. It was a relief to hear the door-bell once more, and prepare
to confront the worst. A London servant never betrays astonishment,
nor indeed any emotion whatever, beyond a shade of dignified and
forbearing contempt. The first footman showed Lady Bearwarden's
suspicious-looking visitor into her boudoir with sublime indifference,
returning thereafter leisurely and loftily to his tea. Maud felt her
courage departing, and her defeat, like that of brave troops seized
by panic, seemed all the more imminent for habitual steadiness and
valour. She took refuge in