subject now."

Philip had the penetration to perceive that Liancourt, who was greatly
moved by the beauty, the innocence, and the unprotected position of
Fanny, had not confined caution to himself; that with his characteristic
well-meaning bluntness, and with the license of a man somewhat advanced
in years, he had spoken to Fanny herself: for Fanny now seemed to shun
Philip,--her eyes were heavy, her manner was embarrassed. He saw the
change, but it did not grieve him; he hailed the omens which he drew
from it.

And at last he and Liancourt went. He was absent three weeks, during
which time the formality of the friendly lawsuit was decided in the
plaintiff's favour; and the public were in ecstasies at the noble
and sublime conduct of Mr. Robert Beaufort: who, the moment he had
discovered a document which he might so easily have buried for ever in
oblivion, voluntarily agreed to dispossess himself of estates he had so
long enjoyed, preferring conscience to lucre. Some persons observed that
it was reported that Mr. Philip Beaufort had also been generous--that he
had agreed to give up the estates for his uncle's life, and was only
in the meanwhile to receive a fourth of the revenues. But the universal
comment was, "He could not have done less!" Mr. Robert Beaufort was, as
Lord Lilburne had once observed, a man who was born, made, and reared
to be spoken well of by the world; and it was a comfort to him now,
poor man, to feel that his character was so highly estimated. If
Philip should live to the age of one hundred, he will never become so
respectable and popular a man with the crowd as his worthy uncle. But
does it much matter? Philip returned to H---- the eve before the day
fixed for the marriage of his brother and Camilla.

CHAPTER XII.

From Night, Sunshine and Day arose--HES

The sun of early May shone cheerfully over the quiet suburb of H----. In
the thoroughfares life was astir. It was the hour of noon--the hour at
which commerce is busy, and streets are full. The old retired trader,
eying wistfully the rolling coach or the oft-pausing omnibus, was
breathing the fresh and scented air in the broadest and most crowded
road, from which, afar in the distance, rose the spires of the
metropolis. The boy let loose from the day-school was hurrying home
to dinner, his satchel on his back: the ballad-singer was sending her
cracked whine through the obscurer alleys, where the baker's boy, with
puddings on hi