a time for the trial arrives among certain of them; and the
leadership is assumed, and submission ensues, tacitly; nothing of the
contention being spoken, perhaps, nothing definitely known.

In Carinthia's case, her revived enthusiasm for her brother drove to the
penetration of the husband pleading to thwart its course. His offer was
wealth: that is, luxury, amusement, ease. The sub-audible 'himself' into
the bargain was disregarded, not counting with one who was an upward rush
of fire at the thought that she was called to share her brother's
dangers.

Chillon cordially believed the earl to be the pestilent half madman,
junction with whom is a constant trepidation for the wife, when it is not
a screaming plight. He said so, and Carinthia let him retain his opinion.
She would have said it herself to support her scheme, though 'mad'
applied to a man moving in the world with other men was not understood by
her.

With Henrietta for the earl's advocate, she was patient as the deaf
rock-wall enthusiam can be against entreaties to change its direction or
bid it disperse: The 'private band of picked musicians' at the disposal
of the Countess of Fleetwood, and Opera singers (Henrietta mentioned
resonant names) hired for wonderful nights at Esslemont and Calesford or
on board the earl's beautiful schooner yacht, were no temptation. Nor did
Henrietta's allusions to his broken appearance move his wife, except in
her saying regretfully: 'He changes.'

On the hall table at Esslemont, a letter from his bankers informed the
earl of a considerable sum of money paid in to his account in the name of
Lord Brailstone. Chumley Potts, hanging at him like a dog without a
master since the death of his friend Ambrose, had journeyed down:
'Anxious about you,' he said. Anxious about or attracted by the possessor
of Ambrose Mallard's 'clean sweeper,' the silver-mounted small pistol;
sight of which he begged to have; and to lengthened his jaw on hearing it
was loaded. A loaded pistol, this dark little one to the right of the
earl's blotting-pad and pens, had the look of a fearful link with his
fallen chaps and fishy hue. Potts maundered moralities upon 'life,'
holding the thing in his hand, weighing it, eyeing the muzzle. He
'couldn't help thinking of what is going to happen to us after it all':
and 'Brosey knows now!' was followed by a twitch of one cheek and the
ejaculation 'Forever!' Fleetwood alive and Ambrose dead were plucking
the startled