t not been for this news, he might
have returned home, soothed, gratified, even again indulging in dreams.
But this news had made him ponder; had made him feel what he had lost,
and forced him to ask himself what he had gained.

There was one thing he had gained, and that was the privilege of calling
on Lady Montfort the next day. That was a fact that sometimes dissipated
all the shadows. Under the immediate influence of her presence, he
became spell-bound as of yore, and in the intoxication of her beauty,
the brightness of her mind, and her ineffable attraction, he felt
he would be content with any lot, provided he might retain her kind
thoughts and pass much of his life in her society.

She was only staying three or four days in town, and was much engaged
in the mornings; but Endymion called on her every afternoon, and sate
talking with her till dinner-time, and they both dined very late. As
he really on personal and domestic affairs never could have any reserve
with her, he told her, in that complete confidence in which they always
indulged, of the extraordinary revelation which his sister had made
to him about the parliamentary qualification. Lady Montfort was deeply
interested in this; she was even agitated, and looked very grave.

"I am sorry," she said, "we know this. Things cannot remain now as they
are. You cannot return the money, that would be churlish; besides, you
cannot return all the advantages which it gained for you, and they must
certainly be considered part of the gift, and the most precious; and
then, too, it would betray what your sister rightly called a 'sacred
confidence.' And yet something must be done--you must let me think. Do
not mention it again." And then they talked a little of public affairs.
Lady Montfort saw no one, and heard from no one now; but judging from
the journals, she thought the position of the government feeble. "There
cannot be a Protectionist government," she said; "and yet that is the
only parliamentary party of importance. Things will go on till some
blow, and perhaps a slight one, will upset you all. And then who is
to succeed? I think some queer _melange_ got up perhaps by Mr. Bertie
Tremaine."

The last day came. She parted from Endymion with kindness, but not
with tenderness. He was choking with emotion, and tried to imitate her
calmness.

"Am I to write to you?" he asked in a faltering voice.

"Of course you are," she said, "every day, and tell me all the news."