ut--but--we have heard of
him no more--no one ever has learned his fate. Perhaps--perhaps" (and he
seemed to breathe more freely)--"my brother is no more!"

And poor Catherine--and poor Philip---had it come to this? Did the
one brother feel a sentiment of release, of joy, in conjecturing the
death--perhaps the death of violence and shame--of his fellow-orphan?
Mr. Spencer shook his head doubtingly, but made no reply. The young
man sighed heavily, and strode on for several paces in advance of his
protector, then, turning back, he laid his hand on his shoulder.

"Sir," he said in a low voice and with downcast eyes, "you are right:
this disguise--this false name--must be for ever borne! Why need
the Beauforts, then, ever know who and what I am? Why not as your
nephew--nephew to one so respected and exemplary--proffer my claims and
plead my cause?"

"They are proud--so it is said--and worldly;--you know my family was in
trade--still--but--" and here Mr. Spencer broke off from a tone of doubt
into that of despondency, "but, recollect, though Mrs. Beaufort may
not remember the circumstance, both her husband and her son have seen
me--have known my name. Will they not suspect, when once introduced to
you, the stratagem that has been adopted?--Nay, has it not been from
that very fear that you have wished me to shun the acquaintance of the
family? Both Mr. Beaufort and Arthur saw you in childhood, and their
suspicion once aroused, they may recognise you at once; your features
are developed, but not altogether changed. Come, come!--my adopted, my
dear son, shake off this fantasy betimes: let us change the scene: I
will travel with you--read with you--go where--"

"Sir--sir!" exclaimed the lover, smiting his breast, "you are ever
kind, compassionate, generous; but do not--do not rob me of hope. I have
never--thanks to you--felt, save in a momentary dejection, the curse of
my birth. Now how heavily it falls! Where shall I look for comfort?"

As he spoke, the sound of a bell broke over the translucent air and the
slumbering lake: it was the bell that every eve and morn summoned that
innocent and pious family to prayer. The old man's face changed as he
heard it--changed from its customary indolent, absent, listless aspect,
into an expression of dignity, even of animation.

"Hark!" he said, pointing upwards; "Hark! it chides you. Who shall say,
'Where shall I look for comfort' while God is in the heavens?"

The young man, habitu