horse following at his heels.

CHAPTER XII.

DOUBTS.

I believe there is no period of life so happy as that in which a
thriving lover leaves his mistress after his first success. His joy
is more perfect then than at the absolute moment of his own eager
vow, and her half-assenting blushes. Then he is thinking mostly of
her, and is to a certain degree embarrassed by the effort necessary
for success. But when the promise has once been given to him, and
he is able to escape into the domain of his own heart, he is as a
conqueror who has mastered half a continent by his own strategy.

It never occurs to him, he hardly believes, that his success is no
more than that which is the ordinary lot of mortal man. He never
reflects that all the old married fogies whom he knows and despises,
have just as much ground for pride, if such pride were enduring; that
every fat, silent, dull, somnolent old lady whom he sees and quizzes,
has at some period been deemed as worthy a prize as his priceless
galleon; and so deemed by as bold a captor as himself.

Some one has said that every young mother, when her first child is
born, regards the babe as the most wonderful production of that
description which the world has yet seen. And this too is true. But
I doubt even whether that conviction is so strong as the conviction
of the young successful lover, that he has achieved a triumph which
should ennoble him down to late generations. As he goes along he has
a contempt for other men; for they know nothing of such glory as
his. As he pores over his "Blackstone," he remembers that he does so,
not so much that he may acquire law, as that he may acquire Fanny;
and then all other porers over "Blackstone" are low and mean in his
sight--are mercenary in their views and unfortunate in their ideas,
for they have no Fanny in view.

Herbert Fitzgerald had this proud feeling strong within his heart
as he galloped away across the greensward, and trotted fast along
the road, home to Castle Richmond. She was compounded of all
excellences--so he swore to himself over and over again--and being so
compounded, she had consented to bestow all these excellences upon
him. Being herself goddess-like, she had promised to take him as the
object of her world's worship. So he trotted on fast and faster, as
though conscious of the half-continent which he had won by his skill
and valour.

She had told him about his cousin Owen. Indeed, the greater number of
th