musing, from a visit to Sidonia, he found
the following note:

'Lady Bertie and Bellair returns Lord Montacute his carriage with a
thousand compliments and thanks. She fears she greatly incommoded
Lord Montacute, but begs to assure him how very sensible she is of his
considerate courtesy.

'Upper Brook Street, Wednesday.'

The handwriting was of that form of scripture which attracts; refined
yet energetic; full of character. Tancred recognised the titles of
Bertie and Bellair as those of two not inconsiderable earldoms, now
centred in the same individual. Lady Bertie and Bellair was herself
a lady of the high nobility; a daughter of the present Duke of
Fitz-Aquitaine; the son of that duke who was the father-in-law of Lord
de Mowbray, and whom Lady Firebrace, the present Lady Bardolf, and
Tadpole, had dexterously converted to conservatism by persuading him
that he was to be Sir Robert's Irish viceroy. Lady Bertie and Bellair,
therefore, was first-cousin to Lady Joan Mountchesney, and her sister,
who is still Lady Maud Fitz-Warene. Tancred was surprised that he never
recollected to have met before one so distinguished and so beautiful.
His conversation with Sidonia, however, had driven the little adventure
of the morning from his memory, and now that it was thus recalled to
him, he did not dwell upon it. His being was absorbed in his paramount
purpose. The sympathy of Sidonia, so complete, and as instructive as it
was animating, was a sustaining power which we often need when we are
meditating great deeds. How often, when all seems dark, and hopeless,
and spiritless, and tame, when slight obstacles figure in the cloudy
landscape as Alps, and the rushing cataracts of our invention have
subsided into drizzle, a single phrase of a great man instantaneously
flings sunshine on the intellectual landscape, and the habitual
features of power and beauty, over which we have so long mused in secret
confidence and love, resume all their energy and lustre.

The haunting thought that occasionally, notwithstanding his strong will,
would perplex the soul and agitate the heart of Tancred; the haunting
thought that, all this time, he was perhaps the dupe of boyish
fantasies, was laid to-day. Sometimes he had felt, Why does no one
sympathise with my views; why, though they treat them with conventional
respect, is it clear that all I have addressed hold them to be absurd?
My parents are pious and instructed; they are predisposed to v