and the
servant at any rate was bound to attend to him.

That night he waited up for his father-in-law in Manchester Square.
He would certainly go to Guatemala now,--if it were not too late. He
would go though he were forced to leave his wife behind him, and thus
surrender any further hope for money from Mr. Wharton beyond the sum
which he would receive as the price of his banishment. It was true
that the fortnight allowed to him by the Company was only at an end
that day, and that, therefore, the following morning might be taken
as the last day named for the payment of the money. No doubt, also,
Mr. Wharton's bill at a few days' date would be accepted if that
gentleman could not at the moment give a cheque for so large a sum as
was required. And the appointment had been distinctly promised to him
with no other stipulation than that the money required for the shares
should be paid. He did not believe in Mr. Hartlepod's threat. It was
impossible, he thought, that he should be treated in so infamous
a manner merely because he had had his election expenses repaid
him by the Duke of Omnium! He would, therefore, ask for the money,
and--renounce the society of his wife.

As he made this resolve something like real love returned to his
heart, and he became for a while sick with regret. He assured himself
that he had loved her, and that he could love her still;--but why had
she not been true to him? Why had she clung to her father instead of
clinging to her husband? Why had she not learned his ways,--as a wife
is bound to learn the ways of the man she marries? Why had she not
helped him in his devices, fallen into his plans, been regardful of
his fortunes, and made herself one with him? There had been present
to him at times an idea that if he could take her away with him to
that distant country to which he thought to go, and thus remove her
from the upas influence of her father's roof-tree, she would then
fall into his views and become his wife indeed. Then he would again
be tender to her, again love her, again endeavour to make the world
soft to her. But it was too late now for that. He had failed in
everything as far as England was concerned, and it was chiefly by her
fault that he had failed. He would consent to leave her;--but, as he
thought of it in his solitude, his eyes became moist with regret.

In these days Mr. Wharton never came home till about midnight, and
then passed rapidly through the hall to his own room,--