pathy
and peace, and a strange new hope; to others draped in sad robes
indeed, but still divine. Thus when he visits such a one as George
Caresfoot, it is as a potent fiend, whose mission is to enter through
man's lower nature, to torture and destroy; to scorch the heart with
fearful heats, and then to crush it, and leave its owner's bosom
choked with bitter dust.

And, so far as George is concerned, there is no doubt but what the
work was done right well, for under the influence of what is, with
doubtful propriety, known as the "tender passion," that estimable
character was rapidly drifting within a measurable distance of a
lunatic asylum. The checks and repulses that he had met with, instead
of cooling his ardour, had only the effect of inflaming it to an
extraordinary degree. Angela's scornful dislike, as water thrown upon
burning oil, did but diffuse the flames of his passion throughout the
whole system of his mind, till he grew wild with its heat and
violence. Her glorious beauty daily took a still stronger hold upon
his imagination, till it scorched into his very soul. For whole nights
he could not sleep, for whole days he would scarcely eat or do
anything but walk, walk, walk, and try to devise means to win her to
his side. The irritation of the mind produced its natural effects upon
his conduct, and he would burst into fits of the most causeless fury.
In one of these he dismissed every servant in the house, and so evil
was his reputation among that class, that he had great difficulty in
obtaining others to take their place. In another he hurled a heavy pot
containing an azalea-bush at the head of one of the gardeners, and had
to compromise an action for assault. In short, the lunatic asylum
loomed very near indeed.

For a week or so after the memorable night of his interview with
Philip, an interview that he, at least, would never forget, George was
quite unable, try as he would, to get a single word with Angela.

At last, one day, when he was driving, by a seldom-used road, past the
fields near the Abbey House on his way from Roxham, chance gave him
the opportunity that he had for so long sought without success. For,
far up a by-lane that led to a turnip-field, his eye caught sight of
the flutter of a grey dress vanishing round a corner, something in the
make of which suggested to him that Angela was its wearer. Giving the
reins to the servant, and bidding him drive on home, he got out of the
dog-cart and h