she exclaimed, "do
not leave me yet; this is our last meeting our last. Tell me, at least,
that you understand me; that you see, if I am no weak fool, I am also
no heartless coquette; tell me that you see I am not as hard as I have
seemed; that I have not knowingly trifled with your happiness; that
even now I am not selfish. Your love,--I ask it no more! But your
esteem--your good opinion. Oh, speak--speak, I implore you!"

"Valerie," said Maltravers, "if I was silent, it was because my heart
was too full for words. You have raised all womanhood in my eyes. I did
love you--I now venerate and adore. Your noble frankness, so unlike the
irresolute frailty, the miserable wiles of your sex, has touched a chord
in my heart that has been mute for years. I leave you to think better
of human nature. Oh!" he continued, "hasten to forget all of me that can
cost you a pang. Let me still, in absence and in sadness, think that I
retain in your friendship--let it be friendship only--the inspiration,
the guide of which you spoke; and if, hereafter, men shall name me with
praise and honour, feel, Valerie, feel that I have comforted myself
for the loss of your love by becoming worthy of your confidence--your
esteem. Oh, that we had met earlier, when no barrier was between us!"

"Go, go, _now_," faltered Valerie, almost choked with her emotions; "may
Heaven bless you! Go!"

Maltravers muttered a few inaudible and incoherent words, and quitted
the apartment.

CHAPTER V.

"The men of sense, those idols of the shallow, are very inferior
to the men of Passions. It is the strong passions which, rescuing
us from sloth, can alone impart to us that continuous and earnest
attention necessary to great intellectual efforts."--HELVETIUS.

WHEN Ferrers returned that day from his customary ride, he was surprised
to see the lobbies and hall of the apartment which he occupied in common
with Maltravers, littered with bags and _malles_, boxes and books,
and Ernest's Swiss valet directing porters and waiters in a mosaic of
French, English, and Italian.

"Well!" said Lumley, "and what is all this?"

"Il signore va partir, sare, ah! mon Dieu!--_tout_ of a sudden."

"O-h! and where is he now!"

"In his room, sare."

Over the chaos strode Ferrers, and opening the door of his friend's
dressing-room without ceremony, he saw Maltravers buried in a fauteuil,
with his hands drooping on his knees, his head bent over his breast, and
his whole