arely attains to wealth; and though reputation may be
certain, fame, such as poets dream of, is the lot of few. What say you
to this course?"

"My Lord, I decide," said Leonard, firmly; and then, his young face
lighting up with enthusiasm, he exclaimed, "Yes, if, as you say,
there be two men within me, I feel that were I condemned wholly to the
mechanical and practical world, one would indeed destroy the other. And
the conqueror would be the ruder and the coarser. Let me pursue those
ideas that, though they have but flitted across me, vague and formless,
have ever soared towards the sunlight. No matter whether or not
they lead to fortune or to fame,--at least they will lead me upward!
Knowledge for itself I desire; what care I if it be not power!"

"Enough," said Harley, with a pleased smile at his young companion's
outburst. "As you decide so shall it be settled. And now permit me,
if not impertinent, to ask you a few questions. Your name is Leonard
Fairfield?"

The boy blushed deeply, and bowed his head as if in assent.

"Helen says you are self-taught; for the rest she refers me to
you,--thinking, perhaps, that I should esteem you less--rather than yet
more highly--if she said you were, as I presume to conjecture, of humble
birth."

"My birth," said Leonard, slowly, "is very--very--humble."

"The name of Fairfield is not unknown to me. There was one of that name
who married into a family in Lansmere, married an Avenel," continued
Harley, and his voice quivered. "You change countenance. Oh, could your
mother's name have been Avenel?"

"Yes," said Leonard, between his set teeth. Harley laid his hand on the
boy's shoulder. "Then, indeed, I have a claim on you; then, indeed, we
are friends. I have a right to serve any of that family."

Leonard looked at him in surprise--"For," continued Harley, recovering
himself, "they always served my family; and my recollections of
Lansmere, though boyish, are indelible." He spurred on his horse as
the words closed, and again there was a long pause; but from that time
Harley always spoke to Leonard in a soft voice, and often gazed on him
with earnest and kindly eyes.

They reached a house in a central, though not fashionable street. A
man-servant of a singularly grave and awful aspect opened the door,--a
man who had lived all his life with authors. Poor fellow, he was indeed
prematurely old! The care on his lip and the pomp on his brow--no
mortal's pen can describe!

"Is