n England,
and devoted to each other, but they had only one child. Fortunately,
that child was a son. Precious life! The Marquis of Montacute was
married before he was of age. Not a moment was to be lost to find heirs
for all these honours. Perhaps, had his parents been less precipitate,
their object might have been more securely obtained. The union' was not
a happy one. The first duke had, however, the gratification of dying a
grandfather. His successor bore no resemblance to him, except in that
beauty which became a characteristic of the race. He was born to enjoy,
not to create. A man of pleasure, the chosen companion of the Regent in
his age of riot, he was cut off in his prime; but he lived long enough
to break his wife's heart and his son's spirit; like himself, too, an
only child.

The present Duke of Bellamont had inherited something of the clear
intelligence of his grandsire, with the gentle disposition of his
mother. His fair abilities, and his benevolent inclinations, had been
cultivated. His mother had watched over the child, in whom she found
alike the charm and consolation of her life. But, at a certain period of
youth, the formation of character requires a masculine impulse, and that
was wanting. The duke disliked his son; in time he became even jealous
of him. The duke had found himself a father at too early a period of
life. Himself in his lusty youth, he started with alarm at the form that
recalled his earliest and most brilliant hour, and who might prove a
rival. The son was of a gentle and affectionate nature, and sighed for
the tenderness of his harsh and almost vindictive parent. But he had not
that passionate soul which might have appealed, and perhaps not in vain,
to the dormant sympathies of the being who had created him. The young
Montacute was by nature of an extreme shyness, and the accidents of his
life had not tended to dissipate his painful want of self-confidence.
Physically courageous, his moral timidity was remarkable. He alternately
blushed or grew pale in his rare interviews with his father, trembled
in silence before the undeserved sarcasm, and often endured the unjust
accusation without an attempt to vindicate himself. Alone, and in
tears alike of woe and indignation, he cursed the want of resolution or
ability which had again missed the opportunity that, both for his mother
and himself, might have placed affairs in a happier position. Most
persons, under these circumstances, would