never believe that Heaven meant to be served by mortal
dullness. Seven years have only made old Horncastle blow his horn
to the same note, only more drearily."

"I can see indeed that it is a great trial to one used to the life
of foreign Courts and to interest in great affairs like you, my poor
Peregrine; but what can I say but to entreat you to be patient, try
to find interest, and endeavour to win your father's confidence so
that he may accord you more liberty? Did I not hear that your
attention made your mother's life happier?"

Peregrine laughed. "My mother! She has never seen aught but
boorishness all her life, and any departure therefrom seems to her
unnatural. I believe she is as much afraid of my courtesy as ever
she was of my mischief, and that in her secret heart she still
believes me a changeling. No, Madam Woodford, there is but one way
to save me from the frenzy that comes over me."

"Your father has already been entreated to let you join your uncle."

"I know it--I know it; but if it were impossible before, that
discovery of Dante has made it impossibilissimo, as the Italian
would say, to deal with him now. There is a better way. Give me
the good angel who has always counteracted the evil one. Give me
Mistress Anne!"

"Anne, my Anne!" exclaimed Mrs. Woodford in dismay. "O Peregrine,
it cannot be!"

"I knew that would be your first word," said Peregrine, "but verily,
madam, I would not ask it but that I know that I should be another
man with her by my side, and that she would have nothing to fear
from the evil that dies at her approach."

"Ah, Peregrine! you think so now; but no man can be sure of himself
with any mere human care. Besides, my child is not of degree to
match with you. Your father would justly be angered if we took
advantage of your attachment to us to encourage you in an
inclination he could never approve."

"I tell you, madam--yes, I must tell you all--my madness and my ruin
will be completed if I am left to my father's will. I know what is
hanging over me. He is only waiting till I am of age--at Midsummer,
and the year of mourning is over for poor Oliver--I am sure no one
mourns for him more heartily than I--to bind me to Martha Browning.
If she would only bring the plague, or something worse than
smallpox, to put an end to it at once!"

"But that would make any such scheme all the more impossible."

"Listen, madam; do but hear me. Even as children the very si