moment devise no other scheme than the very simple one of
going to Mrs. Roden, and declaring his love for the girl.

* * * * * *

The four guests in the carriage were silent throughout their drive
home. They all had thoughts of their own sufficient to occupy them.
George Roden told himself that this, for a long day, must be his last
visit to Hendon Hall. He knew that Lady Frances would arrive on the
morrow, and that then his presence was forbidden. He had refused to
make any promise as to his assured absence, not caring to subject
himself to an absolute bond; but he was quite aware that he was
bound in honour not to enter the house in which he could not be made
welcome. He felt himself to be safe, with a great security. The girl
whom he loved would certainly be true. He was not impatient, as was
Hampstead. He did not trouble his mind with schemes which were to
be brought to bear within the next few days. He could bide his time,
comforting himself with his faith. But still a lover can hardly be
satisfied with the world unless he can see some point in his heaven
from which light may be expected to break through the clouds. He
could not see the point from which the light might be expected.

The Quaker was asking himself many questions. Had he done well to
take his girl to this young nobleman's house? Had he done well to
take himself there? It had been as it were a sudden disruption in
the settled purposes of his life. What had he or his girl to do with
lords? And yet he had been pleased. Courtesy always flatters, and
flattery is always pleasant. A certain sense of softness had been
grateful to him. There came upon him a painful question,--as there
does on so many of us, when for a time we make a successful struggle
against the world's allurements,--whether in abandoning the delights
of life we do in truth get any compensation for them. Would it not
after all be better to do as others use? Phoebus as he touches our
trembling ear encourages us but with a faint voice. It had been very
pleasant,--the soft chairs, the quiet attendance, the well-cooked
dinner, the good wines, the bright glasses, the white linen,--and
pleasanter than all that silvery tone of conversation to which he was
so little accustomed either in King's Court or Paradise Row. Marion
indeed was always gentle to him as a dove cooing; but he was aware
of himself that he was not gentle in return. Stern truth, expressed
shortl