CHAPTER XI.

"The strongest plume in Wisdom's pinion
Is the memory of past folly.”

COLERIDGE.

"We look before and after,

We sigh for what is not;
Our sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught.

Our sweetest songs are those

That tell of saddest thought."

SHELLEY.

HESE were Justin Gresham's memo

THESE

ries, as he climbed the hill to Talbot Hall. This was the secret he feared to tell Langley. Some months had elapsed since that visit of Colonel Montague to Dr. Allen's asylum, and all had changed with Justin; he was awaking from his dream, shaking himself free of its slumberous fascinations. An error when detected is half conquered; as long as it has a hold upon us, we persuade ourselves it is right.

Justin now saw how fatal to all his am

bition, all his hope of usefulness and happiness, was the step he had once meditated. The rash project of going abroad with Isobel Lavaine he had altogether abandoned; and to cut the Gordian knot of sympathy and interest binding him to her case, he determined to leave Dr. Allen's to go himself abroad. It was like tearing himself in two; the effort was supreme, agonizing; and the most painful trial was to resist Isobel's tearful pleading that he would stay near her; he had always been her best friend, her most able helper. Here his firmness nearly gave way; he felt himself unkind, ungenerous; he could explain nothing; he could not demean himself before her by false excuses; he could only stand in her presence, silent and miserable.

Every step was attended with difficulties in this narrow way of uprightness; he stumbled at every moment over large, cutting stones, but he never once thought of turning back. There were Dr. Allen's argu

ments and persuasions to overcome, and these were made powerful by the real interest and affection prompting them. And now he had returned home to a new embarrassment the announcement of his intention to his parents. He delayed it as long as possible-he dreaded the "whys and "wherefores" that would be showered on him, and he had no explanation to offer for throwing up a lucrative position and leaving England.

The complexity of affairs he found at home so occupied his mind that he forgot his own cares. He felt it was good for him to be once more at home; the return of childish associations, the sight of his father and mother, dispelled that foolish dream. He was free again, and his old self-confidence returned to him; but it was modified by a reliance on, and submission to, a Higher Will; he trusted himself now, because he trusted in God.

These memories had brought Justin in

front of the red-brick house of many gables. He paused in his quick walk, and stood still for a moment to survey it. This was the house Isobel so often mentioned; here she had spent her happiest days; in this park she must often have wandered with her lover. What fascination was there in this long, sallow-faced nobleman, with his blasé, languid airs, that she should have laid the wealth of such a heart at his feet?" Justin asked himself indignantly. Evidently there was a fascination, though he could not see it. Lord Talbot certainly had no pretensions to beauty, although a handsome face were a small thing for a wise woman to care about; he had no pretensions to talent or learning. Was it his title, or the ancestral estate, that was so invincible? or did his attractiveness lie in the sheer force of impudence?

Justin gave up the investigation, as one of those hopeless enigmas of woman's wilfulness; and turning from his scrutiny of

the house, ran up the front steps and knocked at the door. Old Somers opened it. "Can I see Mr. St. Clare ? "

"Dear me, Mr. Gresham, it's a while since you have been in these parts. Mr. St. Clare, did you say? Well, that is unfortunate. He has just ridden over to Lyton to take the train to London. Howsomever, he'll be sure to be back tomorrow morning."

Justin felt vexed, and, with a brief "good morning" to the old butler, was turning away, when Somers interposed, and asked if he would not go in and speak to the young lord.

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No, thank you, Somers; I think not. I have nothing particular to say to Lord Talbot." But he lingered a moment, irresolute, on the step. His energetic hurry had faded away; he had strung his mind to one point, and that unaccomplished, the tension had suddenly relaxed; he felt listless and disappointed.