e light in his mind on this
maddest of chances, till it looked sound, and finally certain.

"It's certain, if that's not a hired coachman," he calculated. "If he
is, he won't risk his fee. If he isn't, he'll feel on the safe side
anyhow. At any rate, it's my only chance." And away he flew between
glimmering slopes of frost to where a white curtain of mist hung across
the wooded hills of the Wye.

CHAPTER XLVI

Emilia was in skilful hands, and against anything less powerful than a
lover mounted upon Hippogriff, might have been shielded. What is poison
to most girls, Merthyr prescribed for her as medicine. He nourished her
fainting spirit upon vanity. In silent astonishment Georgiana heard him
address speeches to her such as dowagers who have seen their day
can alone of womankind complacently swallow. He encouraged Tracy
Runningbrook to praise the face of which she had hitherto thought shyly.
Jewels were placed at her disposal, and dresses laid out cunningly
suited to her complexion. She had a maid to wait on her, who gabbled at
the momentous hours of robing and unrobing: "Oh, miss! of all the dark
young ladies I ever see!"--Emilia was the most bewitching. By-and-by,
Emilia was led to think of herself; but with a struggle and under
protest. How could it be possible that she was so very nice to the
eye, and Wilfrid had abandoned her? The healthy spin of young new blood
turned the wheels of her brain, and then she thought: "Perhaps I am
really growing handsome?" The maid said artfully of her hair: "If
gentlemen could only see it down, miss! It's the longest, and thickest,
and blackest, I ever touched!" And so saying, slid her fingers softly
through it after the comb, and thrilled the owner of that hair till soft
thoughts made her bosom heave, and then self-love began to be sensibly
awakened, followed by self-pity, and some further form of what we
understand as consciousness. If partially a degradation of her nature,
this saved her mind from true despair when it began to stir after the
vital shock that had brought her to earth. "To what purpose should I be
fair?" was a question that did not yet come to her; but it was sweet
to see Merthyr's eyes gather pleasure from the light of her own. Sweet,
though nothing more than coldly sweet. She compared herself to her
father's old broken violin, that might be mended to please the sight;
but would never give the tones again. Sometimes, if hope tormented her,
she would strang