ife?

Very little. Mr. Vere felt no sympathy with his wife's scientific
pursuits.

On her husband's death, did she find no consolation in her son? Let
her speak for herself. "My son fills my heart. But the school, the
university, and the hospital have all in turn taken his education out of
my hands. My mind must be filled, as well as my heart." She seized her
exquisite instruments, and returned to the nervous system of the bee.

In course of time, Mr. John Gallilee--"drifting about," as he said of
himself--drifted across the path of science.

The widowed Mrs. Vere (as exhibited in public) was still a fine woman.
Mr. Gallilee admired "that style"; and Mr. Gallilee had fifty thousand
pounds. Only a little more, to my lord and my lady, than one year's
income. But, invested at four percent, it added an annual two thousand
pounds to Mrs. Vere's annual one thousand. Result, three thousand a
year, encumbered with Mr. Gallilee. On reflection, Mrs. Vere
accepted the encumbrance--and reaped her reward. Susan was no longer
distinguished as the sister who had her dresses made in Paris; and Mrs.
Gallilee was not now subjected to the indignity of getting a lift in
Lady Northlake's carriage.

What was the history of Robert, during this interval of time? In two
words, Robert disgraced himself.

Taking possession of his country house, the new squire was invited to
contribute towards the expense of a pack of hounds kept by subscription
in the neighbourhood, and was advised to make acquaintance with his
fellow-sportsmen by giving a hunt-breakfast. He answered very politely;
but the fact was not to be concealed--the new man refused to encourage
hunting: he thought that noble amusement stupid and cruel. For the same
reason, he refused to preserve game. A last mistake was left to make,
and he made it. After returning the rector's visit, he failed to
appear at church. No person with the smallest knowledge of the English
character, as exhibited in an English county, will fail to foresee that
Robert's residence on his estate was destined to come, sooner or later,
to an untimely end. When he had finished his sketches of the picturesque
aspects of his landed property, he disappeared. The estate was not
entailed. Old Robert--who had insisted on the minutest formalities
and details in providing for his dearly-loved wife--was impenetrably
careless about the future of his children. "My fortune has no value now
in my eyes," he said to judicious