ation of himself and his own
faults, and rendered a slave to this hateful self. The infliction
he underwent in his sister's house was somewhat analogous, for Mrs.
Henley's whole character, and especially her complacent speeches, were a
strong resemblance of his own in the days he most regretted. He had ever
since her marriage regarded her as a man looks at a fallen idol, but
never had her alteration been so clear to him, as he had not spent much
time with her, making her short visits, and passing the chief of each
day at Stylehurst. Now, he was almost entirely at her mercy, and her
unvarying kindness to him caused her deterioration to pain him all the
more; while each self-assertion, or harsh judgment, sounded on his ear
like a repetition of his worst and most hateful presumption. She little
guessed what she made him endure, for he had resumed his wonted stoicism
of demeanour, though the hardened crust that had once grown over his
feelings had been roughly torn away, leaving an extreme soreness and
tenderness to which an acute pang was given whenever he was reminded,
not only of his injuries to Guy, but of the pride and secret envy that
had been their root.

At the same time he disappointed her by his continued reserve and
depression. The confidence she had forfeited was never to be restored,
and she was the last person to know how incapable she was of receiving
it, or how low she had sunk in her self-exaltation.

He was soon able to resume the hours of the family, but was still far
from well; suffering from languor, pain in the head, want of sleep and
appetite; and an evening feverishness. He was unequal to deep reading,
and was in no frame for light books; he could not walk far, and his
sister's literary coteries, which he had always despised, were at
present beyond his powers of endurance. She hoped that society would
divert his thoughts and raise his spirits, and arranged her parties with
a view to him; but he never could stay long in the room, and Dr. Henley,
who, though proud of his wife and her talents, had little pleasure in
her learned circle, used to aid and abet his escape.

Thus Philip got through the hours as best he might, idly turning the
pages of new club-books, wandering on the hills till he tired himself,
sitting down to rest in the damp air, coming home chilled and fatigued,
and lying on the sofa with his eyes shut, to avoid conversation, all the
evening. Neither strength, energy, nor intellect woul