h, no!" Mr. Pericles looked pleasantly sagacious. Ze draught--a cold."

"Will you come?" pursued Wilfrid.

"Many sanks!"

Wilfrid's hand was rising. At this juncture his brother officer slipped
out some languid words in his ear, indicative of his astonishment that he
should be championing a termagant, and horror at the idea of such a thing
being publicly imagined, tamed Wilfrid quickly. He recovered himself with
his usual cleverness. Seeing the signs of hostility vanish, Mr. Pericles
said, "You are on a search for your father? You have found him? Hom! I
should say a maladie of nerfs will come to him. A pin fall--he start! A
storm at night--he is out dancing among his ships of venture! Not a bid
of corage!--which is bad. If you shall find Mr. Pole for to-morrow on ze
lawn, vary glad."

With a smile compounded of sniffing dog and Parisian obsequiousness, Mr.
Pericles passed, thinking "He has not got her:" for such was his
deduction if he saw that a man could flush for a woman's name.

Wilfrid stood like a machine with a thousand wheels in revolt. Sensations
pricked at ideas, and immediately left them to account for their
existence as they best could. The ideas committed suicide without a
second's consideration. He felt the great gurgling sea in which they were
drowned heave and throb. Then came a fresh set, that poised better on the
slack-rope of his understanding. By degrees, a buried dread in his brain
threw off its shroud. The thought that there was something wrong with his
father stood clearly over him, to be swallowed at once in the less
tangible belief that a harm had come to Emilia--not was coming, but had
come. Passion thinks wilfully when it thinks at all. That night he lay in
a deep anguish, revolving the means by which he might help and protect
her. There seemed no way open, save by making her his own; and did he
belong to himself? What bound him to Lady Charlotte? She was not lovely
or loving. He had not even kissed her hand; yet she held him in a chain.

The two men composing most of us at the outset of actual life began their
deadly wrestle within him, both having become awakened. If they wait for
circumstance, that steady fire will fuse them into one, who is commonly a
person of some strength; but throttling is the custom between them, and
we are used to see men of murdered halves. These men have what they
fought for: they are unaware of any guilt that may be charged against
them, though they know that