in his life, to gaze upon some of those hideous demons of whom he
had read. He looked in the mirror at himself. A blight seemed to have
fallen over his beauty, and his presence seemed accursed. He had pursued
a dissipated, even more than a dissipated, career. Many were the
nights that had been spent by him not on his couch; great had been the
exhaustion that he had often experienced; haggard had sometimes even
been the lustre of his youth. But when had been marked upon his brow
this harrowing care? When had his features before been stamped with
this anxiety, this anguish, this baffled desire, this strange, unearthly
scowl, which made him even tremble? What! was it possible?--it could not
be--that in time he was to be like those awful, those unearthly, those
unhallowed things that were around him. He felt as if he had fallen from
his state, as if he had dishonoured his ancestry, as if he had betrayed
his trust. He felt a criminal.

'In the darkness of his meditations a flash burst from his lurid mind,
a celestial light appeared to dissipate this thickening gloom, and his
soul felt, as it were, bathed with the softening radiancy. He thought
of May Dacre, he thought of everything that was pure, and holy, and
beautiful, and luminous, and calm. It was the innate virtue of the
man that made this appeal to his corrupted nature. His losses seemed
nothing; his dukedom would be too slight a ransom for freedom from these
ghouls, and for the breath of the sweet air.

'He advanced to the baron, and expressed his desire to play no more.
There was an immediate stir. All jumped up, and now the deed was done.
Cant, in spite of their exhaustion, assumed her reign. They begged him
to have his revenge,--were quite annoyed at the result,--had no doubt he
would recover if he proceeded.

'Without noticing their remarks, he seated himself at the table, and
wrote cheques for their respective amounts, Tom Cogit jumping up and
bringing him the inkstand. Lord Castlefort, in the most affectionate
manner, pocketed the draft; at the same time recommending the duke not
to be in a hurry, but to send it when he was cool. Lord Dice received
his with a bow, Temple Grace with a sigh, the baron with an avowal of
his readiness always to give him his revenge.

'The duke, though sick at heart, would not leave the room with
any evidence of a broken spirit; and when Lord Castlefort again
repeated--"Pay us when we meet again," he said, "I think it very
impro