at he felt a proud consciousness he could
have put to a far richer profit? Whether either or both were killed,
whether either or both came home untouched, his object would equally
be gained. Lady Bearwarden's fair fame would equally be dishonoured
before the world. He knew that world well, knew its tyrannical code,
its puzzling verdicts, its unaccountable clemency to the wolf, its
inflexible severity for the lamb, above all, its holy horror of a blot
that has been scored, of a sin, then only unpardonable, that has been
"found out."

Men love the women on whom they set their affections so differently.
For some--and these are great favourites with the sex--attachment
means the desire of a tiger for its prey. With others it is the
gratification a child finds in a toy. A small minority entertain the
superstition of a savage for his idol; a smaller yet offer the holy
homage of a true worshipper to his saint. A woman's heart pines for
unrivalled sovereignty--a woman's nature requires the strong hand of a
master to retain it in bondage. For this, as for every other earthly
state, there is no unalloyed happiness, no perfect enjoyment, no
complete repose. The gourd has its worm, the diamond its flaw, the
rose its earwigs, and

"The trail of the serpent is over them all."

So Tom Ryfe, taking time by the forelock, breakfasted at ten, wrote
several letters with considerable coolness and forethought, all
bearing on the event in contemplation, some providing for a week's
absence abroad, at least, smoked a cigar in Lord Bearwarden's bedroom,
who was not yet up, and towards noon turned out of Oxford Street to
fulfil his mission with Simon Perkins the painter.

His step was lighter, his whole appearance more elate, than usual. The
traces of recent illness and over-night's fatigue had disappeared.
He was above all foolish fancies of luck, presentiments, and such
superstitions--a man not easily acted on by extraneous circumstances
of good or evil, trusting chiefly in his own resources, and believing
very firmly in nothing but the multiplication table; yet to-day he
told himself he "felt like a winner"; to-day victory seemed in his
grasp, and he trod the pavement with the confident port of that pride
which the proverb warns us "goeth before a fall."

He rang the door-bell and was vaguely directed to proceed up-stairs by
the nondescript maid-servant who admitted him. The place was dark, the
day sultry, the steps numerous. Tom climb