ime to protest against the marriage of first cousins. I was
glad enough that from that time the strange child laid aside her
jealousy of me; and that thenceforth her resistance was simply the
repugnance of a wild creature to be taught and tamed. Ultimately she
let me into the recesses of that passionate heart, and, as I think,
loved me better than anybody else, except Harold; but even so, at an
infinite distance from that which seemed the chief part of her whole
being.

CHAPTER II.

THE LION OF NEME HEATH.

The work was done. The sixteen pages of large-type story book were
stumbled through; and there was a triumphant exhibition when the
cousins came home--Eustace delighted; Harold, half-stifled by London,
insisting on walking home from the station to stretch his legs, and
going all the way round over Kalydon Moor for a whiff of air!

If we had not had a few moors and heaths where he could breathe, I
don't know whether he could have stayed in England; and as for London,
the din, the dinginess, the squalor of houses and people, sat like a
weight on his heart.

"They told me a great deal had been done for England. It is just
nothing," he said, and hardly anything else that whole evening; while
Eustace, accoutred point-device by a London tailor, poured forth
volumes of what he had seen and done. Mr. Prosser made up a dinner
party for them, and had taken them to an evening party or two--at
least, Eustace; for after the first Harold had declined, and had spent
his time in wandering about London by gas-light, and standing on the
bridges, or trying how far it was on each side to green fields, and how
much misery lay between.

Eustace had evidently been made much of, and had enjoyed himself
greatly. It grieved me that his first entrance into society should be
under no better auspices than those of the family solicitor; but he did
not yet perceive this, and was much elated. "I flatter myself it was
rather a success," was the phrase he had brought home, apropos to
everything he had worn or done, from his tie to his shoe-buckles. He
told me the price of everything, all the discussions with his
tradesmen, and all the gazes fixed on him, with such simplicity that I
could not help caring, and there sat Harold in his corner, apparently
asleep, but his eye now and then showing that he was thinking deeply.

"Lucy," he said, as we bade one another good-night, "is nothing being
done?"

"About what?" I asked.

"F