in the flesh shone like the growing star amid thin sanguine
colour, the sweeter, the brighter, the more translucent the longer
known. And if the image will allow it, the nearer down to him the holier
she seemed.

How offer himself when he was not perfectly certain that he was worthy
of her?

Some jugglery was played by the adept male heart in these later
hesitations. Up to the extent of his knowledge of himself, the man was
fairly sincere. Passion would have sped him to Cecilia, but passion is
not invariably love; and we know what it can be.

The glance he cast over the water at Normandy was withdrawn. He went
to Bevisham to consult with Dr. Shrapnel about the starting of a weekly
journal, instead of a daily, and a name for it--a serious question:
for though it is oftener weekly than daily that the dawn is visible
in England, titles must not invite the public jest; and the glorious
project of the daily DAWN was prudently abandoned for by-and-by. He
thought himself rich enough to put a Radical champion weekly in the
field and this matter, excepting the title, was arranged in Bevisham.
Thence he proceeded to Holdesbury, where he heard that the house,
grounds, and farm were let to a tenant preparing to enter. Indifferent
to the blow, he kept an engagement to deliver a speech at the great
manufacturing town of Gunningham, and then went to London, visiting his
uncle's town-house for recent letters. Not one was from Renee: she had
not written for six weeks, not once for his thrice! A letter from Cecil
Baskelett informed him that 'my lord' had placed the town-house at his
disposal. Returning to dress for dinner on a thick and murky evening
of February, Beauchamp encountered his cousin on the steps. He said to
Cecil, 'I sleep here to-night: I leave the house to you tomorrow.'

Cecil struck out his underjaw to reply: 'Oh! good. You sleep here
to-night. You are a fortunate man. I congratulate you. I shall not
disturb you. I have just entered on my occupation of the house. I have
my key. Allow me to recommend you to go straight to the drawing-room.
And I may inform you that the Earl of Romfrey is at the point of death.
My lord is at the castle.'

Cecil accompanied his descent of the steps with the humming of an opera
melody: Beauchamp tripped into the hall-passage. A young maid-servant
held the door open, and she accosted him: 'If you please, there is a
lady up-stairs in the drawing-room; she speaks foreign English, sir.'