hat everything had
occurred as I said; and, however she deplored it, she felt the same
for you as ever, and prayed for your happiness. Then she told me what
misery the danger of Lord Monteagle had occasioned her; that she
thought his death must have been the forerunner of her own; but the
moment he was declared out of danger seemed the happiest hour of
her life. I told her you were going to leave England, and asked her
whether she had any message for you; and she said, "Tell him he is the
same to me that he has always been." So, when her aunt returned, I
jumped out and ran on to you at once.'

'You are the best fellow that ever lived, George,' said Lord Cadurcis;
'and now the world may go to the devil!'

This message from Venetia acted upon Lord Cadurcis like a charm. It
instantly cleared his mind. He shut himself up in his house for a
week, and wrote a farewell to England, perhaps the most masterly
effusion of his powerful spirit. It abounded in passages of
overwhelming passion, and almost Satanic sarcasm. Its composition
entirely relieved his long-brooding brain. It contained, moreover,
a veiled address to Venetia, delicate, tender, and irresistibly
affecting. He appended also to the publication, the verses he had
previously addressed to her.

This volume, which was purchased with an avidity exceeding even
the eagerness with which his former productions had been received,
exercised extraordinary influence on public opinion. It enlisted the
feelings of the nation on his side in a struggle with a coterie. It
was suddenly discovered that Lord Cadurcis was the most injured of
mortals, and far more interesting than ever. The address to the
unknown object of his adoration, and the verses to Venetia, mystified
everybody. Lady Monteagle was universally abused, and all sympathised
with the long-treasured and baffled affection of the unhappy poet.
Cadurcis, however, was not to be conciliated. He left his native
shores in a blaze of glory, but with the accents of scorn still
quivering on his lip.

END OF BOOK IV.

BOOK V.

CHAPTER I.

The still waters of the broad and winding lake reflected the lustre
of the cloudless sky. The gentle declinations of the green hills that
immediately bordered the lake, with an undulating margin that now
retired into bays of the most picturesque form, now jutted forth
into woody promontories, and then opened into valleys of sequestered
beauty, which the eye delighted