cy daily growing more alienated from the premier, and
more prepared for a Cabinet revolution. And Vargrave, perhaps, like
most needy men, overrated the advantages he should derive from, and the
servile opinions he should conciliate in, his new character of landed
proprietor and wealthy peer. He was not insensible to the silent anguish
that Evelyn seemed to endure, nor to the bitter gloom that hung on
the brow of Lady Doltimore. But these were clouds that foretold no
storm,--light shadows that obscured not the serenity of the favouring
sky. He continued to seem unconscious to either; to take the coming
event as a matter of course, and to Evelyn he evinced so gentle,
unfamiliar, respectful, and delicate an attachment, that he left no
opening, either for confidence or complaint. Poor Evelyn! her gayety,
her enchanting levity, her sweet and infantine playfulness of manner,
were indeed vanished. Pale, wan, passive, and smileless, she was the
ghost of her former self! But days rolled on, and the evil one drew
near; she recoiled, but she never dreamed of resisting. How many equal
victims of her age and sex does the altar witness!

One day, at early noon, Lord Vargrave took his way to Evelyn's. He had
been to pay a political visit in the Faubourg St. Germain, and he was
now slowly crossing the more quiet and solitary part of the gardens of
the Tuileries, his hands clasped behind him, after his old, unaltered
habit, and his eyes downcast,--when suddenly a man, who was seated alone
beneath one of the trees, and who had for some moments watched his steps
with an anxious and wild aspect, rose and approached him. Lord Vargrave
was not conscious of the intrusion, till the man laid his hand on
Vargrave's arm, and exclaimed,--

"It is he! it is! Lumley Ferrers, we meet again!"

Lord Vargrave started and changed colour, as he gazed on the intruder.

"Ferrers," continued Cesarini (for it was he), and he wound his arm
firmly into Lord Vargrave's as he spoke, "you have not changed; your
step is light, your cheek healthful; and yet I--you can scarcely
recognize me. Oh, I have suffered so horribly since we parted! Why is
this? Why have I been so heavily visited, and why have you gone free?
Heaven is not just!"

Castruccio was in one of his lucid intervals; but there was that in his
uncertain eye, and strange unnatural voice, which showed that a breath
might dissolve the avalanche. Lord Vargrave looked anxiously round; none
were near: bu