w
those hopes had been fulfilled.

The two men were of distinguished appearance. Lord Chetwynde was of
about the medium size, with slight figure, and pale, aristocratic
face. His hair was silver-white, his features were delicately
chiseled, but wore habitually a sad and anxious expression. His whole
physique betokened a nature of extreme refinement and sensibility,
rather than force or strength of character. His companion, General
Pomeroy, was a man of different stamp. He was tall, with a high
receding brow, hair longer than is common with soldiers; thin lips,
which spoke of resolution, around which, however, there always dwelt
as he spoke a smile of inexpressible sweetness. He had a long nose,
and large eyes that lighted up with every varying feeling. There was
in his face both resolution and kindliness, each in extreme, as
though he could remorselessly take vengeance on an enemy or lay down
his life for a friend.

As long as the servants were present the conversation, animated
though it was, referred to topics of a general character; but as soon
as they had left the room the two friends began to refer more
confidentially to the past.

"You have lived so very secluded a life," said General Pomeroy, "that
it is only at rare intervals that I have heard any thing of you, and
that was hardly more than the fact that you were alive. You were
always rather reserved and secluded, you know; you hated, like
Horace, the _profanum vulgus_, and held yourself aloof from them, and
so I suppose you would not go into political life. Well, I don't know
but that, after all, you were right."

"My dear Pomeroy," said Lord Chetwynde, leaning back in his chair,
"my circumstances have been such that entrance into political life
has scarcely ever depended on my own choice. My position has been so
peculiar that it has hardly ever been possible for me to obtain
advancement in the common ways, even if I had desired it. I dare say,
If I had been inordinately ambitious, I might have done something;
but, as it was, I have done nothing. You see me just about where I
was when we parted, I don't know how many years ago."

"Well, at any rate," said the General, "you have been spared the
trouble of a career of ambition. You have lived here quietly on your
own place, and I dare say you have had far more real happiness than
you would otherwise have had."

"Happiness!" repeated Lord Chetwynde, in a mournful tone. He leaned
his head on his hand for