the smiles of beauty, or a
laughter-moving tongue. But Sir Henry, very early in life, had thrown
those things from him. He had discarded pleasure, and wedded himself
to hard work at a very early age. If, at the same time, he had wedded
himself to honesty also, and had not discarded his heart, it might
have been well with him.

He again sat down, and then he remained all but motionless for some
twenty minutes. It had now become dark, but he would have no lights
lit. The room was very gloomy with its red embossed paper and dark
ruby curtains. As his eye glanced round during the last few moments
of the dusk, he remembered how he had inquired of his Caroline how
many festive guests might sit at their ease in that room, and eat the
dainties which he, with liberal hand, would put before them. Where
was his Caroline now? where were his guests? what anxiety now had
he that they should have room enough? what cared he now for their
dainties?

It was not to be borne. He clasped his hand to his brow, and rising
from his chair, he went upstairs to his dressing-room. For what
purpose, he had not even asked himself. Of bed, and rest, and
sleep he had had no thought. When there, he again sat down, and
mechanically dressed himself--dressed himself as though he were
going out to some gay evening-party--was even more than ordinarily
particular about his toilet. One white handkerchief he threw aside
as spoiled in the tying. He looked specially to his boots, and with
scrupulous care brushed the specks of dust from the sleeve of his
coat. It was a blessing, at any rate, to have something to do. He did
this, and then--

When he commenced his work, he had, perhaps, some remote intention of
going somewhere. If so, he had quickly changed his mind, for, having
finished his dressing, he again sat himself down in an arm-chair.
The gas in his dressing-room had been lighted, and here he was able
to look around him and see what resources he had to his hand. One
resource he did see.

Ah, me! Yes, he saw it, and his mind approved--such amount of mind
as he had then left to him. But he waited patiently awhile--with
greater patience than he had hitherto exhibited that day. He waited
patiently, sitting in his chair for some hour or so; nay, it may have
been for two hours, for the house was still, and the servants were
in bed. Then, rising from his chair, he turned the lock of his
dressing-room door. It was a futile precaution, if it meant anything,