e in his apartment. A heavy sleep had come over
him, shortly after Harley and Randal had left the house in the early
morning; and that sleep continued till late in the day. All the while
the town of Lansmere had been distracted in his cause, all the while so
many tumultuous passions had run riot in the contest that was to close
or re-open for the statesman's ambition the Janus gates of political
war, the object of so many fears and hopes, schemes and counter-schemes,
had slumbered quietly as an infant in the cradle. He woke but in time to
receive Harley's despatch, announcing the success of his election; and
adding, "Before the night you shall embrace your son. Do not join us
below when I return. Keep calm,--we will come to you."

In fact, though not aware of the dread nature of Audley's complaint,
with its warning symptoms, Lord L'Estrange wished to spare to his friend
the scene of Randal's exposure.

On the receipt of that letter Egerton rose. At the prospect of seeing
his son--Nora's son--the very memory of his disease vanished. The poor,
weary, over-laboured heart indeed beat loud, and with many a jerk and
spasm. He heeded it not. The victory, that restored him to the sole life
for which he had hitherto cared to live, was clean forgotten. Nature
claimed her own,--claimed it in scorn of death, and in oblivion of
renown.

There sat the man, dressed with his habitual precision,--the black
coat, buttoned across the broad breast; his countenance, so mechanically
habituated to self-control, still revealing little of emotion, though
the sickly flush came and went on the bronzed cheek, and the eye watched
the hand of the clock, and the ear hungered for a foot-tread along the
corridor. At length the sound was heard,--steps, many steps. He sprung
to his feet, he stood on the hearth. Was the hearth to be solitary no
more? Harley entered first. Egerton's eyes rested on him eagerly for
a moment, and strained onward across the threshold. Leonard came
next,--Leonard Fairfield, whom he had seen as his opponent! He began
to suspect, to conjecture, to see the mother's tender eyes in the son's
manly face. Involuntarily he opened his arms; but, Leonard remaining
still, let them fall with a deep sigh, and fancied himself deceived.

"Friend," said Harley, "I give to you a son proved in adversity, and who
has fought his own way to fame. Leonard, in the man to whom I prayed you
to sacrifice your own ambition, of whom you have spoken wit