une.
They settled in the Isle of Wight, on his half-pay, and harassed by a
good many debts. Their two children, Henry and Isabella, were then
growing up, and the parents' hopes were fixed upon their promising and
good-looking son. With difficulty they sent him to Charterhouse and a
"crammer." The boy coveted a "crack" regiment; by dint of mustering all
the money and all the interest they could, they procured him his heart's
desire. He got unpardonably into debt; the old people's resources were
lessening, not expanding; and ultimately the poor father died broken
down by the terror of bankruptcy for himself and disgrace for Henry. The
mother still survived, in very straitened circumstances.

"His sister," said Delafield's informant, "married one of the big London
tailors, whom she met first on the Ryde pier. I happen to know the
facts, for my father and I have been customers of his for years, and one
day, hearing that I was in Warkworth's regiment, he told me some stories
of his brother-in-law in a pretty hostile tone. His sister, it appears,
has often financed him of late. She must have done. How else could he
have got through? Warkworth may be a fine, showy fellow when there's
fighting about. In private life he's one of the most self-indulgent dogs
alive. And yet he's ashamed of the sister and her husband, and turns his
back on them whenever he can. Oh, he's not a person of nice feeling, is
Warkworth--but, mark my words, he'll be one of the most successful men
in the army."

There was one side. On the other was to be set the man's brilliant
professional record; his fine service in this recent campaign; the
bull-dog defence of an isolated fort, which insured the safety of most
important communications; contempt of danger, thirst, exposure; the
rescue of a wounded comrade from the glacis of the fort, under a
murderous fire; facts, all of them, which had fired the public
imagination and brought his name to the front. No such acts as these
could have been done by any mere self-indulgent pretender.

Delafield reserved his judgment. He set himself to watch. In his inmost
heart there was a strange assumption of the right to watch, and, if need
be, to act. Julie's instinct had told her truly. Delafield, the
individualist, the fanatic for freedom--he, also, had his instinct of
tyranny. She should not destroy herself, the dear, weak, beloved woman!
He would prevent it.

* * * * *

Thus, during