udy
and thought gave a still graver complexion to his feelings, his mind
fled back upon his presentiments; and that intense, scholar-like
superstition, which I have heretofore described as one of the tendencies
of his nature, began more actively to conjure up its phantasmagoria
before his mental vision. A predominating trait of this superstition was
an increasing conviction that, in Mildred's connexion with Arthur
Butler, there was associated some signal doom to himself, that was to
affect the fortunes of his race. It was a vague, misty, obscure
consciousness of impending fate, the loss of reason or the loss of life
that was to ensue upon that alliance if it should ever take place.

It was such a presentiment that now, in the solitary path of Lindsay's
life, began to be magnified into a ripening certainty of ill. The needle
of his mind trembled upon its pivot, and began to decline towards a
fearful point; that point was--frenzy. His studies favored this
apprehension--they led him into the world of visions. The circumstances
of his position favored it. He was perplexed by the intrigues of
politicians, against whom he had no defence in temper nor worldly skill:
he was deluded by false views of events: he was embarrassed and
dissatisfied with himself: above all, he was wrought upon, bewildered,
and glamoured (to use a most expressive Scotch phrase) by the
remembrance of a sickly dream.

Thus hunted and badgered by circumstances, he fled with avidity to the
disclosures made in Tyrrel's letters, to try, as a last effort, their
effect upon Mildred, hoping that the tale there told might divert her
from a purpose which now fed all his melancholy.

The reader has just seen how the experiment had failed.

Lindsay retired to his study, and, through the remainder of the day,
sought refuge from his meditations in the converse of his books. These
mute companions, for once, failed to bring him their customary balm. His
feelings had been turned, by the events of the morning, into a current
that bore them impetuously along towards a dark and troubled ocean of
thought; and when the shades of evening had fallen around him, he was
seen pacing the terrace with a slow and measured step.

"It is plain, she passionately loves Butler," he said, "in despite of
all the visible influences around her. Her education, habits,
affections, duty--all set in an opposing tide against this passion, and
yet does it master them all. That I should be bou