changed opinions
exactly. George Eildon had only called once, and on a day when they
were all from home: he had written several times to his aunt regarding
Lord Eildon's health, and Lady Arthur had written to him and had told
him her anxiety about the health of Alice. He expressed sympathy and
concern, as his mother might have done, but Lady Arthur would not
allow herself to see that the case was desperate.

She had a note from her sister-in-law, Lady George, who said "that she
had just been at Eildon, and in her opinion Frank was going, but his
parents either can't or won't see this, or George either. It is a sad
case--so young a man and with such prospects--but the world abounds in
sad things," etc., etc. But sad as the world is, it is shrewd with a
wisdom of its own, and it hardly believed in the grief of Lady George
for an event which would place her own son in a position of honor and
affluence. But many a time George Eildon recoiled from the people who
did not conceal their opinion that he might not be broken-hearted
at the death of his cousin. There is nothing that true, honorable,
unworldly natures shrink from more than having low, unworthy feelings
and motives attributed to them.

X.

Lady Arthur Eildon made up her mind. "I am supposed," she said to
herself, "to be eccentric: why not get the good of such a character?"
She enclosed her dying letter to her nephew, which was nothing less
than an appeal to him on behalf of Alice, assuring him of her belief
that Alice bitterly regretted the answer she had given his letter, and
that if she had it to do over again it would be very different. When
Lady Arthur did this she felt that she was not doing as she would be
done by, but the stake was too great not to try a last throw for it.
In an accompanying note she said, "I believe that the statements in
this letter still hold true. I blamed myself afterward for having
influenced Alice when she wrote to you, and now I have absolved my
conscience." (Lady Arthur put it thus, but she hardly succeeded
in making herself believe it was a case of conscience: she was too
sharp-witted. It is self-complacent stupidity that is morally small.)
"If this letter is of no interest to you, I am sure I am trusting it
to honorable hands."

She got an answer immediately. "I thank you," Mr. Eildon said, "for
your letters, ancient and modern: they are both in the fire, and so
far as I am concerned shall be as if they had never been."

It