to share the fortunes that are broken, and the existence that is
obscure?'

She turned; her arm fell over his shoulder; she buried her head in his
breast.

CHAPTER X.

_'Love is Like a Dizziness.'_

MR. DACRE returned home with an excellent appetite, and almost as keen a
desire to renew his conversation with his guest; but dinner and the Duke
were neither to be commanded. Miss Dacre also could not be found. No
information could be obtained of them from any quarter. It was nearly
seven o'clock, the hour of dinner. That meal, somewhat to Mr. Dacre's
regret, was postponed for half an hour, servants were sent out, and the
bell was rung, but no tidings. Mr. Dacre was a little annoyed and more
alarmed; he was also hungry, and at half-past seven he sat down to a
solitary meal.

About a quarter-past eight a figure rapped at the dining-room window:
it was the young Duke. The fat butler seemed astonished, not to say
shocked, at this violation of etiquette; nevertheless, he slowly opened
the window.

'Anything the matter, George? Where is May?'

'Nothing. We lost our way. That is all. May--Miss Dacre desired me to
say, that she would not join us at dinner.'

'I am sure, something has happened.'

'I assure you, my dear sir, nothing, nothing at all the least
unpleasant, but we took the wrong turning. All my fault.'

'Shall I send for the soup?'

'No. I am not hungry, I will take some wine.' So saying, his Grace
poured out a tumbler of claret.

'Shall I take your Grace's hat?' asked the fat butler.

'Dear me! have I my hat on?'

This was not the only evidence afforded by our hero's conduct that his
presence of mind had slightly deserted him. He was soon buried in a deep
reverie, and sat with a full plate, but idle knife and fork before him,
a perfect puzzle to the fat butler, who had hitherto considered his
Grace the very pink of propriety.

'George, you have eaten no dinner,' said Mr. Dacre.

'Thank you, a very good one indeed, a remarkably good dinner. Give me
some red wine, if you please.'

At length they were left alone.

'I have some good news for you, George.'

'Indeed.'

'I think I have let Rosemount.'

'So!'

'And exactly to the kind of person that you wanted, a man who will take
a pride, although merely a tenant, in not permitting his poor neighbours
to feel the _want_ of a landlord. You will never guess: Lord Mildmay!'

'What did you say of Lord Mildmay, sir?'

'My dear fellow, y