The History of Pendennis

  CHAPTER LIV. Convalescence

  Our duty now is to record a fact concerning Pendennis, which, howevershameful and disgraceful, when told regarding the chief personage andgodfather of a novel, must, nevertheless, be made known to the publicwho reads his veritable memoirs. Having gone to bed ill with fever, andsuffering to a certain degree under the passion of love, after hehad gone through his physical malady, and had been bled and had beenblistered, and had had his head shaved, and had been treated andmedicamented as the doctor ordained:--it is a fact, that, when herallied up from his bodily ailment, his mental malady had likewisequitted him, and he was no more in love with Fanny Bolton than you or I,who are much too wise, or too moral, to allow our hearts to go gaddingafter porters' daughters.

  He laughed at himself as he lay on his pillow, thinking of this secondcure which had been effected upon him. He did not care the least aboutFanny now: he wondered how he ever should have cared: and according tohis custom made an autopsy of that dead passion, and anatomised his owndefunct sensation for his poor little nurse. What could have made himso hot and eager about her but a few weeks back? Not her wit, not herbreeding, not her beauty--there were hundreds of women better-lookingthan she. It was out of himself that the passion had gone: it did notreside in her. She was the same; but the eyes which saw were changed;and, alas, that it should be so! were not particularly eager to see herany more. He felt very well disposed towards the little thing, and soforth, but as for violent personal regard, such as he had but a fewweeks ago, it had fled under the influence of the pill and lancet, whichhad destroyed the fever in his frame. And an immense source of comfortand gratitude it was to Pendennis (though there was something selfishin that feeling, as in most others of our young man), that he had beenenabled to resist temptation at the time when the danger was greatest,and had no particular cause of self-reproach as he remembered hisconduct towards the young girl. As from a precipice down which he mighthave fallen, so from the fever from which he had recovered, he reviewedthe Fanny Bolton snare, now that he had escaped out of it, but I'mnot sure that he was not ashamed of the very satisfaction which heexperienced. It is pleasant, perhaps, but it is humiliating to own thatyou love no more.

  Meanwhile the kind smiles and tender watchfulness of the mother athis bedside, filled the young man with peace and security. To see thathealth was returning, was all the unwearied nurse demanded: to executeany caprice or order of her patient's, her chiefest joy and reward.He felt himself environed by her love, and thought himself almost asgrateful for it as he had been when weak and helpless in childhood.

  Some misty notions regarding the first part of his illness, and thatFanny had nursed him, Pen may have had, but they were so dim that hecould not realise them with accuracy, or distinguish them from what heknew to be delusions which had occurred and were remembered duringthe delirium of his fever. So as he had not thought proper on formeroccasions to make any allusions about Fanny Bolton to his mother, ofcourse he could not now confide to her his sentiments regarding Fanny,or make this worthy lady a confidante. It was on both sides an unluckyprecaution and want of confidence; and a word or two in time might havespared the good lady, and those connected with her, a deal of pain andanguish.

  Seeing Miss Bolton installed as nurse and tender to Pen, I am sorry tosay Mrs. Pendennis had put the worst construction on the fact of theintimacy of these two unlucky young persons, and had settled in her ownmind that the accusations against Arthur were true. Why not have stoppedto inquire?--There are stories to a man's disadvantage that the womenwho are fondest of him are always the most eager to believe. Isn't aman's wife often the first to be jealous of him? Poor Pen got a goodstock of this suspicious kind of love from the nurse who was nowwatching over him; and the kind and pure creature thought that her boyhad gone through a malady much more awful and debasing than the merephysical fever, and was stained by crime as well as weakened by illness.The consciousness of this she had to bear perforce silently, and to tryto put a mask of cheerfulness and confidence over her doubt and despairand inward horror.

  When Captain Shandon, at Boulogne, read the next number of the Pall MallGazette, it was to remark to Mrs. Shandon that Jack Finucane's hand wasno longer visible in the leading articles, and that Mr. Warrington mustbe at work there again. "I know the crack of his whip in a hundred, andthe cut which the fellow's thong leaves. There's Jack Bludyer, goes towork like a butcher, and mangles a subject. Mr. Warrington finished aman, and lays his cuts neat and regular, straight down the back, anddrawing blood every line;" at which dreadful metaphor, Mrs. Shandonsaid, "Law, Charles, how can you talk so! I always thought Mr.Warrington very high, but a kind gentleman; and I'm sure he was mostkind to the children." Upon which Shandon said, "yes; he's kind to thechildren; but he's savage to the men; and to be sure, my dear, you don'tunderstand a word about what I'm saying; and it's best you shouldn't;for it's little good comes out of writing for newspapers; and it'sbetter here, living easy at Boulogne, where the wine's plenty, and thebrandy costs but two francs a bottle. Mix us another tumbler, Mary, mydear; we'll go back into harness soon. 'Cras ingens iterabimus aequor'bad luck to it."

  In a word, Warrington went to work with all his might, in place of hisprostrate friend, and did Pen's portion of the Pall Mall Gazette "with avengeance," as the saying is. He wrote occasional articles andliterary criticisms; he attended theatres and musical performances, anddiscoursed about them with his usual savage energy. His hand was toostrong for such small subjects, and it pleased him to tell Arthur'smother, and uncle, and Laura, that there was no hand in all the bandof penmen more graceful and light, more pleasant and more elegant, thanArthur's. "The people in this country, ma'am, don't understand whatstyle is, or they would see the merits of our young one," he said toMrs. Pendennis. "I call him ours, ma'am, for I bred him; and I am asproud of him as you are; and, bating a little wilfulness, and a littleselfishness, and a little dandification, I don't know a more honest,or loyal, or gentle creature. His pen is wicked sometimes, but he is askind as a young lady--as Miss Laura here--and I believe he would not doany living mortal harm."

  At this, Helen, though she heaved a deep, deep sigh, and Laura, thoughshe, too, was sadly wounded, nevertheless were most thankful forWarrington's good opinion of Arthur, and loved him for being so attachedto their Pen. And Major Pendennis was loud in his praises of Mr.Warrington,--more loud and enthusiastic than it was the Major's wont tobe. "He is a gentleman, my dear creature," he said to Helen, "every incha gentleman, my good madam--the Suffolk Warringtons--Charles theFirst's baronets:--what could he be but a gentleman, come out of thatfamily?--father,--Sir Miles Warrington; ran away with--beg your pardon,Miss Bell. Sir Miles was a very well known man in London, and a friendof the Prince of Wales, This gentleman is a man of the greatest talents,the very highest accomplishments,--sure to get on, if he had a motive toput his energies to work."

  Laura blushed for herself whilst the Major was talking and praisingArthur's hero. As she looked at Warrington's manly face, and dark,melancholy eyes, this young person had been speculating about him, andhad settled in her mind that he must have been the victim of an unhappyattachment; and as she caught herself so speculating, why, Miss Bellblushed.

  Warrington got chambers hard by,--Grenier's chambers in Flag Court; andhaving executed Pen's task with great energy in the morning, his delightand pleasure of an afternoon was to come and sit with the sick man'scompany in the sunny autumn evenings; and he had the honour more thanonce of giving Miss Bell his arm for a walk in the Temple Gardens; totake which pastime, when the frank Laura asked of Helen permission,the Major eagerly said, "Yes, yes, begad--of course you go out withhim--it's like the country, you know; everybody goes out with everybodyin the Gardens, and there are beadles, you know, and that sort ofthing--everybody walks in the Temple Gardens." If the great arbiter ofmorals did not object, why should simple Helen? She was glad that hergirl should have such fresh air as the river could give, and to seeher return with heightened colour and spirits from these harmless
excursions.

  Laura and Helen had come, you must know, to a little explanation.When the news arrived of Pen's alarming illness, Laura insisted uponaccompanying the terrified mother to London, would not hear of therefusal which the still angry Helen gave her, and, when refused a secondtime yet more sternly, and when it seemed that the poor lost lad's lifewas despaired of, and when it was known that his conduct was such as torender all thoughts of union hopeless, Laura had, with many tears, toldher mother a secret with which every observant person who reads thisstory was acquainted already. Now she never could marry him, was she tobe denied the consolation of owning how fondly, how truly, how entirelyshe had loved him? The mingling tears of the woman appeased the agony oftheir grief somewhat; and the sorrows and terrors of their journey wereat least in so far mitigated that they shared them together.

  What could Fanny expect when suddenly brought up for sentence before acouple of such judges? Nothing but swift condemnation, awful punishment,merciless dismissal! Women are cruel critics in cases such as that inwhich poor Fanny was implicated; and we like them to be so; for, besidesthe guard which a man places round his own harem, and the defences whicha woman has in her heart, her faith, and honour, hasn't she all her ownfriends of her own sex to keep watch that she does not go astray, and totear her to pieces if she is found erring? When our Mahmouds or Selimsof Baker Street or Belgrave Square visit their Fatimas with condignpunishment, their mothers sew up Fatima's sack for her, and her sistersand sisters-in-law see her well under water. And this present writerdoes not say nay. He protests most solemnly he is a Turk, too. He wearsa turban and a beard like another, and is all for the sack practice,Bismillah! But O you spotless, who have the right of capital punishmentvested in you, at least be very cautious that you make away with theproper (if so she may be called) person. Be very sure of the fact beforeyou order the barge out: and don't pop your subject into the Bosphorus,until you are quite certain that she deserves it. This is all I wouldurge in poor Fatima's behalf--absolutely all--not a word more, by thebeard of the Prophet. If she's guilty, down with her--heave over thesack, away with it into the Golden Horn bubble and squeak, and justicebeing done, give way, men, and let us pull back to supper.

  So the Major did not in any way object to Warrington's continuedpromenades with Miss Laura, but, like a benevolent old gentleman,encouraged in every way the intimacy of that couple. Were there anyexhibitions in town? he was for Warrington conducting her to them.If Warrington had proposed to take her to Vauxhall itself, this mostcomplaisant of men would have seen no harm,--nor would Helen, ifPendennis the elder had so ruled it,--nor would there have been anyharm between two persons whose honour was entirely spotless,--betweenWarrington, who saw in intimacy a pure, and high-minded, and artlesswoman for the first time in his life,--and Laura, who too for thefirst time was thrown into the constant society of a gentleman of greatnatural parts and powers of pleasing; who possessed varied acquirements,enthusiasm, simplicity, humour, and that freshness of mind which hissimple life and habits gave him, and which contrasted so much withPen's dandy indifference of manner and faded sneer. In Warrington's veryuncouthness there was a refinement, which the other's finery lacked. Inhis energy, his respect, his desire to please, his hearty laughter,or simple confiding pathos, what a difference to Sultan Pen's yawningsovereignty and languid acceptance of homage! What had made Pen at homesuch a dandy and such a despot? The women had spoiled him, as we likethem and as they like to do. They had cloyed him with obedience, andsurfeited him with sweet respect and submission, until he grew wearyof the slaves who waited upon him, and their caresses and cajoleriesexcited him no more. Abroad, he was brisk and lively, and eager andimpassioned enough--most men are so constituted and so nurtured.--Doesthis, like the former sentence, run a chance of being misinterpreted,and does any one dare to suppose that the writer would incite the womento revolt? Nevert, by the whiskers of the Prophet again, he says. Hewears a beard, and he likes his women to be slaves. What man doesn't?What man would be henpecked, I say? We will cut off all the heads inChristendom or Turkeydom rather than that.

  Well, then, Arthur being so languid, and indifferent, and careless aboutthe favours bestowed upon him, how came it that Laura should have such alove and rapturous regard for him, that a mere inadequate expressionof it should have kept the girl talking all the way from Fairoaks toLondon, as she and Helen travelled in the post-chaise? As soon as Helenhad finished one story about the dear fellow, and narrated, with ahundred sobs and ejaculations, and looks up to heaven, some thrillingincidents which occurred about the period when the hero was breeched,Laura began another equally interesting and equally ornamented withtears, and told how heroically he had a tooth out or wouldn't have itout, or how daringly he robbed a bird's nest or how magnanimously hespared it; or how he gave a shilling to the old woman on the common, orwent without his bread-and-butter for the beggar-boy who came into theyard--and so on One to another the sobbing women sang laments upon theirhero, who, my worthy reader has long since perceived, is no more a herothan one of us. Being as he was, why should a sensible girl be so fondof him?

  This point has been argued before in a previous unfortunate sentence(which lately drew down all the wrath of Ireland upon the writer'shead), and which said that the greatest rascal-cut-throats have hadsomebody to be fond of them, and if those monsters, why not ordinarymortals? And with whom shall a young lady fall in love but with theperson she sees? She is not supposed to lose her heart in a dream, likea Princess in the Arabian Nights; or to plight her young affectionsto the portrait of a gentleman in the Exhibition, or a sketch in theIllustrated London News. You have an instinct within you which inclinesyou to attach yourself to some one: you meet Somebody: you hear Somebodyconstantly praised: you walk, or ride, or waltz, or talk or sit inthe same pew at church with Somebody: you meet again, and again,and--"Marriages are made in Heave," your dear mamma says, pinning yourorange-flowers wreath on, with her blessed eyes dimmed with tears--andthere is a wedding breakfast, and you take off your white satin andretire to your coach-and-four, and you and he are a happy pair.--Or, theaffair is broken off, and then, poor wounded heart! why, then you meetSomebody Else, and twine your young affections round number two. It isyour nature so to do. Do you suppose it is all for the man's sake thatyou love, and not a bit for your own? Do you suppose you would drink ifyou were not thirsty, or eat if you were not hungry?

  So then Laura liked Pen because she saw scarcely anybody else atFairoaks except Doctor Portman and Captain Glanders, and because hismother constantly praised her Arthur, and because he was gentlemanlike,tolerably good-looking and witty, and because, above all, it was of hernature to like somebody. And having once received this image into herheart, she there tenderly nursed it and clasped it--she there, in hislong absences and her constant solitudes, silently brooded over itand fondled it--and when after this she came to London, and had anopportunity of becoming rather intimate with Mr. George Warrington,what on earth was to prevent her from thinking him a most odd, original,agreeable, and pleasing person?

  A long time afterwards, when these days were over, and Fate in itsown way had disposed of the various persons now assembled in the dingybuilding in Lamb Court, perhaps some of them looked back and thought howhappy the time was, and how pleasant had been their evening talksand little walks and simple recreations round the sofa of Pen theconvalescent. The Major had a favourable opinion of September in Londonfrom that time forward, and declared at his clubs and in society thatthe dead season in town was often pleasant, doosid pleasant, begad. Heused to go home to his lodgings in Bury Street of a night, wonderingthat it was already so late, and that the evening had passed away soquickly. He made his appearance at the Temple pretty constantly inthe afternoon, and tugged up the long black staircase with quite abenevolent activity and perseverance. And he made interest with the chefat Bays's (that renowned cook, the superintendence of whose work uponGastronomy compelled the gifted author to stay in the metropolis), toprepare little jellies, delicate clear soups, asp
ics, and other triflesgood for invalids, which Morgan the valet constantly brought down to thelittle Lamb Court colony. And the permission to drink a glass or two ofpure sherry being accorded to Pen by Doctor Goodenough, the Majortold with almost tears in his eyes how his noble friend the Marquis ofSteyne, passing through London on his way to the Continent, had orderedany quantity of his precious, his priceless Amontillado, that had beena present from King Ferdinand to the noble Marquis, to be placed at thedisposal of Mr. Arthur Pendennis. The widow and Laura tasted it withrespect (though they didn't in the least like the bitter flavour) butthe invalid was greatly invigorated by it, and Warrington pronouncedit superlatively good, and proposed the Major's health in a mock speechafter dinner on the first day when the wine was served, and that of LordSteyne and the aristocracy in general.

  Major Pendennis returned thanks with the utmost gravity and in a speechin which he used the words, 'the present occasion,' at least the propernumber of times. Pen cheered with his feeble voice from his armchair.Warrington taught Miss Laura to cry "Hear! hear!" and tapped the tablewith his knuckles. Pidgeon the attendant grinned, and honest DoctorGoodenough found the party so merrily engaged, when he came in to payhis faithful gratuitous visit.

  Warrington knew Sibwright, who lived below and that gallant gentleman,in reply to a letter informing him of the use to which his apartment hadbeen put, wrote back the most polite and flowery letter of acquiescenceHe placed his chambers at the service of their fair occupants, hisbed at their disposal, his carpets at their feet. Everybody was kindlydisposed towards the sick man and his family. His heart (and hismother's too, as we may fancy) melted within him at the thought of somuch good-feeling and good-nature. Let Pen's biographer be pardonedfor alluding to a time not far distant when a somewhat similar mishapbrought him a providential friend, a kind physician, and a thousandproofs of a most touching and surprising kindness and sympathy.

  There was a piano in Mr. Sibwright's chamber (indeed, this gentleman, alover of all the arts, performed himself--and excellently ill too--uponthe instrument; and had had a song dedicated to him, the words byhimself, the air by his devoted friend Leopoldo Twankidillo), and atthis music-box, as Mr. Warrington called it, Laura, at first with agreat deal of tremor and blushing (which became her very much), playedand sang, sometimes of an evening, simple airs, and old songs of home.Her voice was a rich contralto, and Warrington, who scarcely knew onetune from another and who had but one tune or bray in his repertoire,--amost discordant imitation of 'God save the King'--sat rapt in delightlistening to these songs. He could follow their rhythm if not theirharmony; and he could watch, with a constant and daily growingenthusiasm, the pure and tender and generous creature who made themusic.

  I wonder how that poor pale little girl in the black bonnet, who used tostand at the lamp-post in Lamb Court sometimes of an evening, lookingup to the open windows from which the music came, liked to hear it? WhenPen's bedtime came the songs were hushed. Lights appeared in the upperroom: his room, whither the widow used to conduct him; and then theMajor and Mr. Warrington, and sometimes Miss Laura, would have a game atecarte or backgammon; or she would sit by working a pair of slippers inworsted--a pair of gentleman's slippers--they might have been for Arthuror for George or for Major Pendennis: one of those three would havegiven anything for the slippers.

  Whilst such business as this was going on within, a rather shabby oldgentleman would come and lead away the pale girl in the black bonnet,who had no right to be abroad in the night air; and the Temple porters,the few laundresses, and other amateurs who had been listening to theconcert, would also disappear.

  Just before ten o'clock there was another musical performance, namelythat of the chimes of St. Clement's clock in the Strand, which playedthe clear cheerful notes of a psalm, before it proceeded to ring itsten fatal strokes. As they were ringing, Laura began to fold up theslippers; Martha from Fairoaks appeared with a bed-candle, and aconstant smile on her face; the Major said, "God bless my soul, is itso late?" Warrington and he left their unfinished game, and got up andshook hands with Miss Bell. Martha from Fairoaks lighted them out of thepassage and down the stair, and, as they descended, they could hearher bolting and locking "the sporting door" after them, upon her youngmistress and herself. If there had been any danger, grinning Marthasaid she would have got down "that thar hooky soord which hung up ingantleman's room,"--meaning the Damascus scimitar with the names of theprophet engraved on the blade and the red velvet scabbard, which PercySibwright, Esquire, brought back from his tour in the Levant, along withan Albanian dress, and which he wore with such elegant effect at LadyMullingar's fancy ball, Gloucester Square, Hyde Park. It entangleditself in Miss Kewsey's train, who appeared in the dress in which she,with her mamma, had been presented to their sovereign (the latter by theL--d Ch-nc-ll-r's lady), and led to events which have nothing to do withthis history. Is not Miss Kewsey now Mrs. Sibwright? Has Sibwright notgot a county court?--Good night, Laura and Fairoaks Martha. Sleep welland wake happy, pure and gentle lady.

  Sometimes after these evenings Warrington would walk a little way withMajor Pendennis--just a little way just as far as the Temple gate--asthe Strand--as Charing Cross--as the Club--he was not going into theClub? Well, as far as Bury Street, where he would laughingly shake handson the Major's own door-step. They had been talking about Laura all theway. It was wonderful how enthusiastic the Major, who, as we know, usedto dislike her, had grown to be regarding the young lady--"Dev'lishfine girl, begad. Dev'lish well-mannered girl--my sister-in-law has themanners of a duchess and would bring up any girl well. Miss Bell's alittle countryfied. But the smell of the hawthorn is pleasant, demmy.How she blushes! Your London girls would give many a guinea for abouquet like that--natural flowers, begad! And she's a little moneytoo--nothing to speak of--but a pooty little bit of money." In all whichopinions no doubt Mr. Warrington agreed; and though he laughed ashe shook hands with the Major, his face fell as he left his veterancompanion; and he strode back to chambers, and smoked pipe after pipelong into the night, and wrote article upon article, more and moresavage, in lieu of friend Pen disabled.

  Well, it was a happy time for almost all parties concerned. Pen mendeddaily. Sleeping and eating were his constant occupations. His appetitewas something frightful. He was ashamed of exhibiting it before Laura,and almost before his mother who laughed and applauded him. As the roastchicken of his dinner went away he eyed the departing friend with sadlonging, and began to long for jelly, or tea, or what not. He was likean ogre in devouring. The Doctor cried stop, but Pen would not. Naturecalled out to him more loudly than the Doctor, and that kind andfriendly physician handed him over with a very good grace to the otherhealer.

  And here let us speak very tenderly and in the strictest confidenceof an event which befell him, and to which he never liked an allusion.During his delirium the ruthless Goodenough ordered ice to be put to hishead, and all his lovely hair to be cut. It was done in the time of--ofthe other nurse, who left every single hair of course in a paper for thewidow to count and treasure up. She never believed but that the girlhad taken away some of it, but then women are so suspicious upon thesematters.

  When this direful loss was made visible to Major Pendennis as of courseit was the first time the elder saw the poor young man's shorn pate, andwhen Pen was quite out of danger, and gaining daily vigour, the Major,with something like blushes and a queer wink of his eyes, said he knewof a--a person--a coiffeur, in fact--a good man, whom he would send downto the Temple, and who would--a--apply--a--a temporary remedy to thatmisfortune.

  Laura looked at Warrington with the archest sparkle in hereyes--Warrington fairly burst out into a boohoo of laughter: even thewidow was obliged to laugh: and the Major erubescent confounded theimpudence of the young folks, and said when he had his hair cut he wouldkeep a lock of it for Miss Laura.

  Warrington voted that Pen should wear a barrister's wig. There wasSibwright's down below, which would become him hugely. Pen said "Stuff,"and seemed as confused as his uncle
; and the end was that a gentlemanfrom Burlington Arcade waited next day upon Mr. Pendennis, and had aprivate interview with him in his bedroom; and a week afterwards thesame individual appeared with a box under his arm, and an ineffable grinof politeness on his face, and announced that he had brought 'ome Mr.Pendennis's 'ead of 'air.

  It must have been a grand but melancholy sight to see Pen in therecesses of his apartment, sadly contemplating his ravaged beauty, andthe artificial means of hiding its ruin. He appeared at length in the'ead of 'air; but Warrington laughed so, that Pen grew sulky, and wentback for his velvet cap, a neat turban which the fondest of mammas hadworked for him. Then Mr. Warrington and Miss Bell got some flowers offthe ladies' bonnets and made a wreath, with which they decorated the wigand brought it out in procession, and did homage before it. In fact theyindulged in a hundred sports, jularities, waggeries, and petits jeuxinnocens: so that the second and third floors of Number 6 Lamb Court,Temple, rang with more cheerfulness and laughter than had been known inthose precincts for many a long day.

  At last, after about ten days of this life, one evening when the littlespy of the court came out to take her usual post of observation at thelamp, there was no music from the second-floor window, there were nolights in the third-story chambers, the windows of each were open, andthe occupants were gone. Mrs. Flanagan, the laundress, told Fanny whathad happened. The ladies and all the party had gone to Richmond forchange of air. The antique travelling chariot was brought out again andcushioned with many pillows for Pen and his mother; and Miss Laura wentin the most affable manner in the omnibus under the guardianship of Mr.George Warrington. He came back and took possession of his old bed thatnight in the vacant and cheerless chambers, and to his old books and hisold pipes, but not perhaps to his old sleep.

  The widow had left a jar full of flowers upon his table, prettilyarranged, and when he entered they filled the solitary room with odour.They were memorials of the kind, gentle souls who had gone away, and whohad decorated for a little while that lonely cheerless place. He hadhad the happiest days of his whole life George felt--he knew it nowthey were just gone: he went and took up the flowers and put his faceto them, and smelt them--perhaps kissed them. As he put them down, herubbed his rough hand across his eyes with a bitter word and laugh. Hewould have given his whole life and soul to win that prize which Arthurrejected. Did she want fame? he would have won it for her:--devotion?--agreat heart full of pent-up tenderness and manly love and gentleness wasthere for her, if she might take it. But it might not be. Fate had ruledotherwise. "Even if I could, she would not have me," George thought."What has an ugly, rough old fellow like me, to make any woman like him?I'm getting old, and I've made no mark in life. I've neither good looks,nor youth, nor money, nor reputation. A man must be able to do somethingbesides stare at her and offer on his knees his smooth devotion, to makea woman like him. What can I do? Lots of young fellows have passed me inthe race--what they call the prizes of life didn't seem to me worth thetrouble of the struggle. But for her. If she had been mine and liked adiamond--ah! shouldn't she have worn it! Psha, what a fool I am to bragof what I would have done! We are the slaves of destiny. Our lots areshaped for us, and mine is ordained long ago. Come, let us have a pipe,and put the smell of these flowers out of court, poor little silentflowers! you'll be dead to-morrow. What business had you to show yourred cheeks in this dingy place?"

  By his bedside George found a new Bible which the widow had placedthere, with a note inside saying that she had not seen the book amongsthis collection in a room where she had spent a number of hours, andwhere God had vouchsafed to her prayers the life of her son, and thatshe gave to Arthur's friend the best thing she could, and besought himto read in the volume sometimes, and to keep it as a token of a gratefulmother's regard and affection. Poor George mournfully kissed the book ashe had done the flowers; and the morning found him still reading in itsawful pages, in which so many stricken hearts, in which so many tenderand faithful souls, have found comfort under calamity, and refuge andhope in affliction.