se last
cynicisms, and calculated on heightening the stage effect of the morrow,
or whether a paroxysm of pain drove him mad, as it had done better men,
who can tell? I think and hope the latter was the case, but--I doubt.
Though Sir Henry Fallowfield had never read Aristotle, he had studied,
all his life, the principles of the peripeteia.

Godfrey Parndon no longer ruled over the Pytchley. He had backed his own
opinions and other men's bills once or twice too often, and had retired
temporarily into private life till he could get "his second wind." The
new M.F.H. was his complete contrast--pale-faced, low-voiced, mild-eyed,
and melancholy as a lotus-eater--one of the class of "weak-minded but
gentlemanly young men" that Tom Cradock used to ask his friends to
recommend to him as pupils. The farmers missed sadly Godfrey's bluff
face and stalwart figure at the cover-side, while the "bruisers" from
Leamington, and the "railers" from town, hearing no longer his great
voice, good-naturedly imperative, adjuring them to "hold hard, and not
to spoil their own sport," rode over the hounds rejoicing.

Flora Bellasys was married.

It was just the match I thought she would make. Sir Marmaduke
Dorrillon's possessions were vast enough to satisfy any ambition, and
his years put love out of the question.

His friends had been as prophetic in their warnings as January's were,
but even, they never guessed what he would have to endure at the hands
of that cruel May. He tried very hard not to be jealous, but he could
not help being sensitive; and so, day by day, she inflicted on him the
_peine forte et dure_, "laying on him as much as he could bear, and
more." It was sad to see how the kind old man withered and pined away;
yet he never complained, and quarreled mortally with his best friend for
daring to compassionate him.

He was so courteous, and gentle, and chivalrous; so conscious of his own
disadvantage in age; so generous in trusting her, and in hoping against
hope; so considerate in anticipating all her wishes and whims, that it
might have moved even Flora to pity. But her great disappointment had
strangely altered and imbittered her character. She was _quite_
merciless now, and never seemed really amused unless she was doing harm
to some one.

It was not that her manner had become harsh or repellent, or even more
sarcastic; she wag to the full as fascinating as ever; but she was cool
and calculating in her caprices. She took