of it
listening to his heavy step pacing monotonously up and down his
dressing-room, which was nearest my chamber. Once I heard him pause and
throw something out of the window with a passionate ejaculation; and in
the morning, after they were gone, a keen-bladed clasp-knife was found on
the grass-plot below; a razor, likewise, was snapped in two and thrust
deep into the cinders of the grate, but partially corroded by the
decaying embers. So strong had been the temptation to end his miserable
life, so determined his resolution to resist it.

My heart bled for him as I lay listening to that ceaseless tread.
Hitherto I had thought too much of myself, too little of him: now I
forgot my own afflictions, and thought only of his; of the ardent
affection so miserably wasted, the fond faith so cruelly betrayed,
the--no, I will not attempt to enumerate his wrongs--but I hated his wife
and my husband more intensely than ever, and not for my sake, but for
his.

They departed early in the morning, before any one else was down, except
myself, and just as I was leaving my room Lord Lowborough was descending
to take his place in the carriage, where his lady was already ensconced;
and Arthur (or Mr. Huntingdon, as I prefer calling him, for the other is
my child's name) had the gratuitous insolence to come out in his
dressing-gown to bid his 'friend' good-by.

'What, going already, Lowborough!' said he. 'Well, good-morning.' He
smilingly offered his hand.

I think the other would have knocked him down, had he not instinctively
started back before that bony fist quivering with rage and clenched till
the knuckles gleamed white and glistening through the skin. Looking upon
him with a countenance livid with furious hate, Lord Lowborough muttered
between his closed teeth a deadly execration he would not have uttered
had he been calm enough to choose his words, and departed.

'I call that an unchristian spirit now,' said the villain. 'But I'd
never give up an old friend for the sake of a wife. You may have mine if
you like, and I call that handsome; I can do no more than offer
restitution, can I?'

But Lowborough had gained the bottom of the stairs, and was now crossing
the hall; and Mr. Huntingdon, leaning over the banisters, called out,
'Give my love to Annabella! and I wish you both a happy journey,' and
withdrew, laughing, to his chamber.

He subsequently expressed himself rather glad she was gone. 'She was so
deuced imper