friend of mine dines with me; but
'tis no matter, for I shall never feel more for Miss Asterisk than I
feel for Mont Blanc."

CHAPTER VI.

On leaving his cousin's house Graham walked on, he scarce knew or
cared whither, the image of the beloved dead so forcibly recalled the
solemnity of the mission with which he had been intrusted, and which
hitherto he had failed to fulfil. What if the only mode by which he
could, without causing questions and suspicions that might result in
dragging to day the terrible nature of the trust he held, enrich the
daughter of Richard King, repair all wrong hitherto done to her, and
guard the sanctity of Lady Janet's home,--should be in that union which
Richard King had commended to him while his heart was yet free? In such
a case, would not gratitude to the dead, duty to the living, make that
union imperative at whatever sacrifice of happiness to himself? The two
years to which Richard King had limited the suspense of research were
not yet expired. Then, too, that letter of Lady Janet's,--so tenderly
anxious for his future, so clear-sighted as to the elements of his
own character in its strength or its infirmities--combined with graver
causes to withhold his heart from its yearning impulse, and--no, not
steel it against Isaura, but forbid it to realise, in the fair creature
and creator of romance, his ideal of the woman to whom an earnest,
sagacious, aspiring man commits all the destinies involved in the
serene dignity of his hearth. He could not but own that this gifted
author--this eager seeker after fame--this brilliant and bold competitor
with men on their own stormy battle-ground-was the very person from whom
Lady Janet would have warned away his choice. She (Isaura) merge her own
distinctions in a husband's;--she leave exclusively to him the burden of
fame and calumny!--she shun "to be talked about!" she who could feel
her life to be a success or a failure, according to the extent and the
loudness of the talk which it courted!

While these thoughts racked his mind, a kindly hand was laid on his arm,
and a cheery voice accosted him. "Well met, my dear Vane! I see we are
bound to the same place; there will be a good gathering to-night."

"What do you mean, Bevil? I am going nowhere, except to my own quiet
rooms."

"Pooh! Come in here at least for a few minutes,"--and Bevil drew him
up to the door-step of a house close by, where, on certain evenings,
a well-known club drew to