would be called, though my father still was
living and his cousin disclaimed the title--away she ran from some dull
German place, after a very stiff lesson in poetry, and with her ran off
a young Englishman, the present Sir Montague Hockin. He was Mr. Hockin
then, and had not a half-penny of his own; but Flittamore met that
difficulty by robbing her husband to his last farthing.

This had happened about twelve years back, soon after I was placed at
the school in Languedoc, to which I was taken so early in life that
I almost forget all about it. But it might have been better for poor
Flittamore if she had been brought up at a steady place like that, with
sisters and ladies of retreat, to teach her the proper description of
her duties to mankind. I seemed now in my own mind to condemn her quite
enough, feeling how superior her husband must have been; but Mrs. Price
went even further, and became quite indignant that any one should pity
her.

"A hussy! a hussy! a poppet of a hussy!" she exclaimed, with greater
power than her quiet face could indicate; "never would I look at her.
Speak never so, Miss Castlewood. My lord is the very best of all men,
and she has made him what he is. The pity she deserves is to be trodden
under foot, as I saw them do in Naples."

After all the passion I had seen among rough people, I scarcely could
help trembling at the depth of wrath dissembled and firmly controlled
in calm clear eyes under very steadfast eyebrows. It was plain that Lord
Castlewood had, at any rate, the gift of being loved by his dependents.

"I hope that he took it aright!" I cried, catching some of her
indignation; "I hope that he cast her to the winds, without even a sigh
for such a cruel creature!"

"He was not strong enough," she answered, sadly; "his bodily health was
not equal to it. From childhood he had been partly crippled and spoiled
in his nerves by an accident. And the shock of that sight at Bristol
flew to his weakness, and was too much for him. And now this third and
worst disaster, coming upon him where his best hope lay, and at such a
time of life, took him altogether off his legs. And off his head too,
I might almost say, miss; for, instead of blaming her, he put the fault
entirely upon himself. At his time of life, and in such poor health, he
should not have married a bright young girl: how could he ever hope to
make her happy? That was how he looked at it, when he should have sent
constables after her.