ervous debility, my Lord. You are paying the heavy debt
an overworked intellect must always acquit; but rest and repose will
soon restore you."

"Yes, sir," muttered the other, with a weak smile, as though, without
fathoming the sentiment, he felt that something agreeable to his
feelings had been spoken.

"I have been impatient for your recovery, my Lord, I will confess to
you, on personal grounds; I feel now how much I have been indebted
to your Lordship's counsel and advice all through life, by the very
incertitude that tracks me. In fact, I can resolve on nothing, determine
nothing, without your sanction."

The old man nodded assentingly; the assurance had his most sincere
conviction.

"It would seem, my Lord, that I must--whether I will or no--stand for
this borough, here; there is no alternative, for you are aware that
Cashel is quite unfit for public business. Each day he exhibits more and
more of those qualities which bespeak far more goodness of heart than
intellectual training or culture. His waywardness and eccentricity might
seriously damage his own party,--could he even be taught that he had
one,--and become terrible weapons in the hands of the enemy. I was
speaking of Cashel, my Lord," said Linton, as it were answering the look
of inquiry in the old man's face.

"I hate him, sir," said the old peer, with a bitterness of voice and
look that well suited the words.

"I really cannot wonder at it," said Linton, with a deep sigh; "such
duplicity is too shocking--far too shocking--to contemplate."

"Eh! what? What did you say, sir?" cried the old man, impatiently.

"I was remarking, my Lord, that I have no confidence in his sincerity;
that he strikes me as capable of playing a double part."

A look of disappointment succeeded to the excited expression of the
old man's face; he had evidently expected some revelation, and now his
features became clouded and gloomy.

"We may be unjust, my Lord," said Linton; "it may be a prejudice on our
part: others would seem to have a different estimate of that gentleman.
Meek thinks highly of him."

"Who, sir? I didn't hear you," asked he, snappishly.

"Meek,--Downie Meek, my Lord."

"Pshaw!" said the old man, with a shrewd twinkle of the eye that made
Linton fear the mind behind it was clearer than he suspected.

"I know, my Lord," said he, hastily, "that you always held the worthy
secretary cheap; but you weighed him in a balance too nice for the
majority of