himself to be styled, because the very cause which breathed this
calm over his existence seemed to portend a storm which could not be
avoided. It was the thought, the presence, the smile, the voice of May
Dacre that imparted this new interest to existence: that being who never
could be his. He shuddered to think that all this must end; but although
he never indulged again in the great hope, his sanguine temper allowed
him to thrust away the future, and to participate in all the joys of the
flowing hour.

At the end of February the Montingfords departed, and now the Duke was
the only guest at Dacre; nor did he hear that any others were expected.
He was alone with her again; often was he alone with her, and never
without a strange feeling coming over his frame, which made him tremble.
Mr. Dacre, a man of active habits, always found occupation in his public
duties and in the various interests of a large estate, and usually
requested, or rather required, the Duke of St. James to be his
companion. He was desirous that the Duke should not be alone, and ponder
too much over the past; nor did he conceal his wishes from his daughter,
who on all occasions, as the Duke observed with gratification, seconded
the benevolent intentions of her parent. Nor did our hero indeed wish
to be alone, or to ponder over the past. He was quite contented with
the present; but he did not want to ride with papa, and took every
opportunity to shirk; all of which Mr. Dacre set down to the indolence
of exhaustion, and the inertness of a mind without an object.

'I am going to ride over to Doncaster, George,' said Mr. Dacre one
morning at breakfast. 'I think that you had better order your horse too.
A good ride will rouse you, and you should show yourself there.'

'Oh! very well, sir; but, but I think that----'

'But what?' asked Mr. Dacre, smiling.

The Duke looked to Miss Dacre, who seemed to take pity on his idleness.

'You make him ride too much, papa. Leave him at home with me. I have
a long round to-day, and want an escort. I will take him instead of my
friend Tom Carter. You must carry a basket though,' said she, turning to
the Duke, 'and run for the doctor if he be wanted, and, in short, do any
odd message that turns up.'

So Mr. Dacre departed alone, and shortly after his daughter and the Duke
of St. James set out on their morning ramble. Many were the cottages at
which they called; many the old dames after whose rheumatisms, and many
t