ave treated
him so badly had she known what the effect would be. Her name was
Catherine Bailey, and she married one Compas, who, as years went
on, made a considerable reputation as an Old Bailey barrister. His
friends feared at the time that Mr Whittlestaff would do some injury
either to himself or Mr Compas. But no one dared to speak to him on
the subject. His mother, indeed, did dare,--or half dared. But he so
answered his mother that he stopped her before the speech was out
of her mouth. "Don't say a word, mother; I cannot bear it." And he
stalked out of the house, and was not seen for many hours.

There had then, in the bitter agony of his spirit, come upon him an
idea of blood. He himself must go,--or the man. Then he remembered
that she was the man's wife, and that it behoved him to spare
the man for her sake. Then, when he came to think in earnest of
self-destruction, he told himself that it was a coward's refuge. He
took to his classics for consolation, and read the philosophy of
Cicero, and the history of Livy, and the war chronicles of Caesar.
They did him good,--in the same way that the making of many shoes
would have done him good had he been a shoemaker. In catching fishes
and riding after foxes he could not give his mind to the occupation,
so as to abstract his thoughts. But Cicero's de Natura Deorum was
more effectual. Gradually he returned to a gentle cheerfulness of
life, but he never burst out again into the violent exercise of
shooting a pheasant. After that his mother died, and again he was
called upon to endure a lasting sorrow. But on this occasion the
sorrow was of that kind which is softened by having been expected. He
rarely spoke of his mother,--had never, up to this period at which
our tale finds him, mentioned his mother's name to any of those about
him. Mrs Baggett would speak of her, saying much in the praise of
her old mistress. Mr Whittlestaff would smile and seem pleased, and
so the subject would pass away. There was something too reverend
to him in his idea of his mother, to admit of his discussing her
character with the servant. But he was well pleased to hear her thus
described. Of the other woman, of Catherine Bailey, of her who had
falsely given herself up to so poor a creature as Compas, after
having received the poetry of his vows, he could endure no mention
whatever; and though Mrs Baggett knew probably well the whole story,
no attempt at naming the name was ever made.

Such h