ather, and both were silent, for Edward had opened his
heart, and his father had breathed some of the dry stock of wisdom on
it. Many times Edward rose to go; and Sir William signalled with his
finger that he should stay: an impassive motion, not succeeded by
speech. And, in truth, the baronet was revolving such a problem as a
long career of profitable banking refreshed by classical exercitations
does not help us to solve. There sat the son of his trust and his pride,
whose sound and equal temperament, whose precocious worldly wit, whose
precise and broad intelligence, had been the visionary comfort of his
paternal days to come; and his son had told him, reiterating it in
language special and exact as that of a Chancery barrister unfolding
his case to the presiding judge, that he had deceived and wronged
an under-bred girl of the humbler classes; and that, after a term of
absence from her, he had discovered her to be a part of his existence,
and designed "You would marry her?" Sir William asked, though less
forcibly than if he could have put on a moral amazement.

"That is my intention, sir, with your permission," Edward replied
firmly, and his father understood that he had never known this young
man, and dealt virtually with a stranger in his son--as shrewd a blow as
the vanity which is in paternal nature may have to endure.

He could not fashion the words, "Cerritus fuit," though he thought
the thing in both tenses: Edward's wits had always been too clearly in
order: and of what avail was it to repeat great and honoured prudential
maxims to a hard-headed fellow, whose choice was to steer upon the
rocks? He did remark, in an undertone,--

"The 'misce stultitiam' seems to be a piece of advice you have adopted
too literally. I quote what you have observed of some one else."

"It is possible, sir," said Edward. "I was not particularly sparing when
I sat in the high seat. 'Non eadem est aetas, non mens.' I now think
differently."

"I must take your present conduct as the fruit of your premature
sagacity, I suppose. By the same rule, your cousin Algernon may prove to
be some comfort to his father, in the end."

"Let us hope he will, sir. His father will not have deserved it so well
as mine."

"The time is morning," said Sir William, looking at his watch, and
bestowing, in the bitterness of his reflections, a hue of triumph on the
sleep of his brother upstairs. "You are your own master, Edward. I will
detain you no m