f fine
gentlemen. Lionel had never heard from her of the ancestral estates sold
for a gambling debt; never from her of the county jail nor the mercenary
misalliance. In boyhood, before we have any cause to be proud of
ourselves, we are so proud of our fathers, if we have a decent excuse
for it. Of his father could Lionel Haughton be proud now? And Darrell
was cognizant of his paternal disgrace, had taunted his father in yonder
old hall--for what?--the marriage from which Lionel sprang! The hands
grew tighter and tighter before that burning face. He did not weep, as
he had done in Vance's presence at a thought much less galling. Not that
tears would have misbecome him. Shallow judges of human nature are they
who think that tears in themselves ever misbecome boy or even man. Well
did the sternest of Roman writers place the arch distinction of humanity
aloft from all meaner of Heaven's creatures, in the prerogative of
tears! Sooner mayst thou trust thy purse to a professional pickpocket
than give loyal friendship to the man who boasts of eyes to which the
heart never mounts in dew! Only, when man weeps he should be alone,--not
because tears are weak, but because they should be sacred. Tears are
akin to prayers. Pharisees parade prayer! impostors parade tears. O
Pegasus, Pegasus,--softly, softly,--thou hast hurried me off amidst the
clouds: drop me gently down--there, by the side of the motionless boy in
the shadowy glen.

CHAPTER VII.

Lionel Haughton, having hitherto much improved his chance of
fortune, decides the question, "What will he do with it?"

"I have been seeking you everywhere," said a well-known voice; and a
hand rested lightly on Lionel's shoulder. The boy looked up, startled,
but yet heavily, and saw Guy Darrell, the last man on earth he could
have desired to see. "Will you come in for a few minutes? you are
wanted."

"What for? I would rather stay here. Who can want me?"

Darrell, struck by the words and the sullen tone in which they were
uttered, surveyed Lionel's face for an instant, and replied in a voice
involuntarily more kind than usual,--

"Some one very commonplace, but since the Picts went out of fashion,
very necessary to mortals the most sublime. I ought to apologize for his
coming. You threatened to leave me yesterday because of a defect in your
wardrobe. Mr. Fairthorn wrote to my tailor to hasten hither and repair
it. He is here. I commend him to your custom! Don't despise hi