"It is one of the impertinences of human society," said Lancaster, with a twitching of his eyebrows, "that whatever filibuster happens to marry the sister of your father, has a right to call you nephew. It might as reasonably be decreed that because I happen to cut the throat of some hook-nosed old money-lender, his women and children would have the right to style themselves my cousins and aunts. That law might, to be sure, prove a beneficial one, for it would do more than hanging to put a stop to murder. But the other law makes marriage a nuisance; and one of these days the nephews will arise and compel its repeal at the sword's point. Meanwhile, I remain the baronet's nephew and your humble servant."

"You would abolish all but blood-relatives, then?" said Mr. Grant, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and interlacing his fingers.

"I would have no 'buts'; abolish the whole of them!" exclaimed Lancaster; "even the rich uncles and the pretty cousins. Take a leaf from the book of animals, and let each human creature stand on his own basis, and do the best he can with it. When I found a republic, there shall be no genealogies and no families. So long as they exist, we shall never know what we are really made of."

"The Bendibow Bank is, however, a highly prosperous and trustworthy concern?"

"You must get my uncle to sing its eulogies for you; I know nothing. But I am of opinion that Miss Marion Lockhart has an intuition for detecting humbugs. That Charles Grantley affair. . . . none of mine. But Sir Francis had two sides to him in his youth, and there may be some passages in his account book that he would deprecate publishing."

is

"Ah! I had contemplated calling at the bank to-morrow

"Oh, don't interpret my prejudices and antipathies as counsel," interrupted the young man, throwing back his hair from his forehead and smiling. “The bank is as sound as the Great Pyramid, I doubt not. Bless your heart, everybody banks there! If they ruin you, you will have all the best folks in London for your fellow-bankrupts. I'm afraid I've bored you shamefully; but a little brandy goes a long way with me."

"You have said nothing that has failed to interest me," returned the old gentleman courteously. "As you may conceive, I find myself somewhat lonely. In twenty years, such friends as may have been mine in England have disappeared; and the circumstances in which those years have been passed-in India-have precluded my finding others. At your age, one can afford to wish to abolish VOL. CCLII. NO. 1815.

T

kindred, but by the time you have lived thirty years longer, you may understand how I would rather wish to create new kindred in the place of those whom fate has abolished for me. Human beings need one another, Mr. Lancaster: God has no other way of ministering to us than through our fellow-creatures. I esteem myself fortunate, therefore, in having met with yourself, and with these kind ladies. You cannot know me, as the vanished friends I spoke of would know me-my origin, my early life, my ambitions, my failures; but you can know me as an inoffensive old gentleman, whose ambition, for the rest of his life, is to make himself agreeable to somebody. If you and I had been young men together in London, thirty years ago, doubtless we might have found ourselves in accord on many points of speculation and philosophy, wherein, now, I should be disposed to challenge some of your conclusions. But intellectual agreement is not the highest basis of friendship between man and man. I, at all events, have been led by experience to value men for what I think they are, more than for what they think they think. I will make no other comment than that on the brilliant and ingenious .... confidence, shall I call it?—with which you have honoured me to-night. If it should ever occur to you to present me to your friend Yorke, under his true name, I am sure that I should enjoy his acquaintance, and that I should recognise him from your description. Perhaps he might be able to reinforce your invention as to the Marquise Perdita. Well, well, I am detaining you. Good-night!"

Lancaster coloured a little at the latter sentences, and a cloud passed over his face; but in another moment his eyebrows lifted with a smile. "God knows what induces me to masquerade so," he said. "I care to conceal myself only from those who can see nothing on any terms-which is certainly not your category. Let Yorke and Lancaster be one in future. As for Perdita . . . . there goes twelve o'clock! I was startled at hearing her name to-night; she has just returned to London in the capacity of widow. It only needed that . . . . however, what is that to you! Good-night."

"Perdita! a pretty name, is it not?" said Mr. Grant musingly, as he followed the other to the door. "It makes one hope there may be some leaven of Shakespeare's Perdita in her, after all."

""Tis an ominous name, though; too ominous, in this case, for even Shakespeare to save it, I'm afraid," returned Lancaster. With that he went out, and left Mr. Grant to his meditations.

CHAPTER XI.

THE next day Mr. Grant hired a saddle-horse, and rode up to London, where, among other business, he made the call at the Bendibow Bank which has been already mentioned. His affair with that institution having been arranged, presumably to the satisfaction of both parties, Mr. Grant set out on his return home. As it was already six o'clock, however, he stopped at the "Holy Lands" hotel in the Strand, where he dined. By the time he was ready to resume his journey it was nearly dark, the rather as the night was moonless, and the sky was overlaid with heavy clouds. Partly by chance, partly because he fancied it would save him some distance, he took the northern or Uxbridge road, instead of that which goes through Kensington. After passing the north-west corner of Kensington Gardens, this road lay through a region which was, at that epoch, practically uninhabited. Mr. Grant rode easily along, absorbed in thought, and only occasionally taking note of his direction. He was a practised horseman, and riding was as natural to him as walking. It was a very still night, though a storm might be brewing; and the only sounds audible to Mr. Grant's ears were the steady tramp of his horse's feet, the slight creaking of the saddle, and the rattle of the bit as the animal flung up his head. By-andby, however, the rider fancied he heard the noise of another horse's hoofs beating the road at a gallop, and coming up behind him. He drew his left rein a little, and glanced over his shoulder.

Meanwhile, at Mrs. Lockhart's house in Hammersmith, dinner was ready at the usual time; but as Mr. Grant did not appear, it was resolved to wait for him. He had informed Mrs. Lockhart, previous to setting out, that it was his intention to go to London, and added that he might be detained some hours by business. No anxiety was felt, therefore but, as Marion observed, dinner would not seem like dinner without Mr. Grant; and it was not worth while sitting down to table so long as any chance remained of his being present. Accordingly, the dishes were put to warm in front of the kitchen fire; and Marion and Lancaster went to the piano, and tried to set to music some words that the latter had written. But singing conduces to appetite; and appetite will get the better even of sentiment. When more than half an hour had added itself to the abyss of the past, it was generally admitted that Mr. Grant was hopelessly derelict, and neglectful of his social duties: the dishes were brought in from the kitchen, and the trio seated themselves at table, with Mr. Grant's chair gaping vacantly at them all.

Now, whether a man be well or ill spoken of behind his back depends not so much upon the man himself as upon those who speak of him; but probably the worst thing that can happen to him is not to be spoken of at all. Mr. Grant fared well in all respects; he was spoken of, he was well spoken of, he was well spoken of by honest people; and it may not be too much to add, that he was not undeserving of having honest people speak well of him. The goodness of some good men is a long time in getting the recognition that it deserves; that of others is appreciated at once; nor does it follow that the latter's virtues are necessarily shallower or less honourable than those of the former. Ten days ago, for example, Mr. Grant had been as good as non-existent to the three persons who were now discussing him with so much interest and even affection. There was something in his face, in his glance, in the gradual, kindly brightening of his smile, in the pleasant melody of his voice, in the manly repose of his general walk and conversation, that inevitably inspired respect and liking in such persons as were disinterestedly susceptible of those sentiments. And yet, Mr. Grant was far from being handsome either in face or figure; and no one knew what his life had been, what was his social position, whether he were rich or poor, or wherefore he was living in lodgings at Hammersmith: none of which subjects of inquiry are apt to be disregarded in the life of a country so compact and inquisitive as England. But even in England, sheer and naked individuality has vast weight, altogether unaccountable upon any general theory whatever and Mr. Grant was in this way the passive subject of a special social dispensation.

"He told me last night," remarked Lancaster, "that he had been

living in India for the last twenty years. I had been puzzling myself whom he reminded me of physically, I mean; and that enlightened me. You have probably seen the man I mean, Mrs. Lockhart. I saw him the year he was acquitted, when I was eight or nine years old; and I never forgot his face-Warren Hastings.”

Mrs. Lockhart replied that she had never seen Mr. Hastings, but she was sure Mr. Grant bore no resemblance to him in character. Mr. Hastings was a cruel and ambitious man; whereas Mr. Grant was the most humane man she had ever known, except the Major, and as simple as a child.

"There is mystery about him, too," said Lancaster.

"Not the kind of mystery that makes you suspicious, though," said Marion. "I feel that what he hides would make us like him better if we knew it."

"What I hide is of another colour," Lancaster observed.

"I'm sure it can be nothing bad," said Mrs. Lockhart.

Marion broke out, "So am I! Mr. Lancaster thinks it would be picturesque and poetical to be wicked, and so he is always talking about it. If he had really done anything wicked, he would be too vain to make a mystery of it; he could not help telling. But he has only been good so far, and he has not outgrown being ashamed of it. If he had committed more sins, the people in his poetry would have committed much fewer."

When Marion struck, she struck with all her might, and reckless of consequences. Mrs. Lockhart sat appalled, and Lancaster winced a little; but he was able to say good-humouredly, "I shall give up being a hypocrite; everybody finds me out. If I were a whited sepulchre, detection would not humiliate me: but when a bottle labelled 'Poison' is found to contain nothing worse than otto of roses, it can never hold up its head again."

66

Anybody can say what they please," rejoined Marion; what they do is all that amounts to anything."

have eyes."

"but

"That is to say, you are deaf, but you "That is a more poetical way of putting it, I suppose. But some words are as good as deeds, and I can hear those."

"It is not your seeing or hearing that troubles me, but your being able to read. If I had only been born an Arab or an ancient Hebrew, I might have written without fear of your criticism."

"I suppose you wish me to say that I would learn those languages for the express purpose of enjoying your poetry. But I think you are lucky in having to write in plain English. It is the most difficult of all languages to be wicked in-genteelly wicked, at least!"

"You convince me, however, that it must have been the original language spoken by Job's wife, when she advised him to curse God and die. If she had been as much a mistress of it as you are, I think he would have done it."

"If he had been a poet, 'tis very likely."

"I hope," said Mrs. Lockhart with gentle simplicity, "that nothing has happened to Mr. Grant."

Lancaster and Marion both turned their faces towards the window, and then Lancaster got up from the table-they had finished dinner-and looked out. "It has grown dark very suddenly," he remarked. "I fear Mr. Grant will get wet if he does not return soon."

Marion also arose and stood at the other side of the window. After a while she said, "I should like to be out in such a night as this."