her?" inquired Nigel, with anxiety.

"For one you know. My life is devoted to Endymion. There is a mystic
bond between us, originating, perhaps, in the circumstance of our birth;
for we are twins. I never mean to embarrass him with a sister's love,
and perhaps hereafter may see less of him even than I see now; but I
shall be in the world, whatever be my lot, high or low--the active,
stirring world--working for him, thinking only of him. Yes; moulding
events and circumstances in his favour;" and she spoke with fiery
animation. "I have brought myself, by long meditation, to the conviction
that a human being with a settled purpose must accomplish it, and
that nothing can resist a will that will stake even existence for its
fulfilment."

CHAPTER XXVII

Endymion had returned to his labours, after the death of his mother,
much dispirited. Though young and hopeful, his tender heart could not be
insensible to the tragic end. There is anguish in the recollection that
we have not adequately appreciated the affection of those whom we have
loved and lost. It tortured him to feel that he had often accepted with
carelessness or indifference the homage of a heart that had been to him
ever faithful in its multiplied devotion. Then, though he was not of a
melancholy and brooding nature, in this moment of bereavement he could
not drive from his mind the consciousness that there had long been
hanging over his home a dark lot, as it were, of progressive adversity.
His family seemed always sinking, and he felt conscious how the sanguine
spirit of his mother had sustained them in their trials. His father had
already made him the depositary of his hopeless cares; and if anything
happened to that father, old and worn out before his time, what would
become of Myra?

Nigel, who in their great calamity seemed to have thought of everything,
and to have done everything, had written to the chief of his office, and
also to Mr. Trenchard, explaining the cause of the absence of Endymion
from his duties. There were no explanations, therefore, necessary when
he reappeared; no complaints, but only sympathy and general kindness.
In Warwick Street there was unaffected sorrow; Sylvia wept and went into
the prettiest mourning for her patroness, and Mr. Rodney wore a crape
on his hat. "I never saw her," said Imogene, "but I am told she was
heavenly."

Waldershare was very kind to Endymion, and used to take him to the House
of Commons on interesting e