London with a couple of hundred thousand men: no,
he hasn't done that,' the earl said, glancing back in his mind through
Beauchamp's career. 'And he escapes what Stukely calls his nation's
scourge, in the shape of a statue turned out by an English chisel. No: we
haven't had much public excitement out of him. But one thing he did do:
he got me down on my knees!'

Lord Romfrey pronounced these words with a sober emphasis that struck the
humour of it sharply into Rosamund's heart, through some contrast it
presented between Nevil's aim at the world and hit of a man: the immense
deal thought of it by the earl, and the very little that Nevil would
think of it--the great domestic achievement to be boasted of by an
enthusiastic devotee of politics!

She embraced her husband with peals of loving laughter: the last laughter
heard in Romfrey Castle for many a day.

CHAPTER LVI

THE LAST OF NEVIL BEAUCHAMP

Not before Beauchamp was flying with the Winter gales to warmer climes
could Rosamund reflect on his career unshadowed by her feminine
mortification at the thought that he was unloved by the girl he had
decided to marry. But when he was away and winds blew, the clouds which
obscured an embracing imagination of him--such as, to be true and full
and sufficient, should stretch like the dome of heaven over the humblest
of lives under contemplation--broke, and revealed him to her as one who
had other than failed: rather as one in mid career, in mid forest, who,
by force of character, advancing in self-conquest, strikes his impress
right and left around him, because of his aim at stars. He had faults,
and she gloried to think he had; for the woman's heart rejoiced in his
portion of our common humanity while she named their prince to men: but
where was he to be matched in devotedness and in gallantry? and what man
of blood fiery as Nevil's ever fought so to subject it? Rosamund followed
him like a migratory bird, hovered over his vessel, perched on deck
beside the helm, where her sailor was sure to be stationed, entered his
breast, communed with him, and wound him round and round with her love.
He has mine! she cried. Her craving that he should be blest in the
reward, or flower-crown, of his wife's love of him lessened in proportion
as her brooding spirit vividly realized his deeds. In fact it had been
but an example of our very general craving for a climax, palpable and
scenic. She was completely satisfied by her conviction