n the reciter and the listener, as Beaufort, with much
circumlocution, much affected disdain and real anxiety, narrated the
singular and ominous conversation between himself and his visitor.

The servant, in introducing Mr. Beaufort, had added to the light of the
room; and the candles shone full on the face and form of Mr. Beaufort.
All about that gentleman was so completely in unison with the world's
forms and seemings, that there was something moral in the very sight
of him! Since his accession of fortune he had grown less pale and less
thin; the angles in his figure were filled up. On his brow there was
no trace of younger passion. No able vice had ever sharpened the
expression--no exhausting vice ever deepened the lines. He was the
beau-ideal of a county member,--so sleek, so staid, so business-like;
yet so clean, so neat, so much the gentleman. And now there was a kind
of pathos in his grey hairs, his nervous smile, his agitated hands, his
quick and uneasy transition of posture, the tremble of his voice. He
would have appeared to those who saw, but heard not, The Good Man in
trouble. Cold, motionless, speechless, seemingly apathetic, but in truth
observant, still reclined on the sofa, his head thrown back, but one
eye fixed on his companion, his hands clasped before him, Lord Lilburne
listened; and in that repose, about his face, even about his person,
might be read the history of how different a life and character! What
native acuteness in the stealthy eye! What hardened resolve in the full
nostril and firm lips! What sardonic contempt for all things in the
intricate lines about the mouth. What animal enjoyment of all things so
despised in that delicate nervous system, which, combined with original
vigour of constitution, yet betrayed itself in the veins on the hands
and temples, the occasional quiver of the upper lip! His was the frame
above all others the most alive to pleasure--deep-chested, compact,
sinewy, but thin to leanness--delicate in its texture and extremities,
almost to effeminacy. The indifference of the posture, the very habit
of the dress--not slovenly, indeed, but easy, loose, careless--seemed to
speak of the man's manner of thought and life--his profound disdain of
externals.

Not till Beaufort had concluded did Lord Lilburne change his position or
open his lips; and then, turning to his brother-in-law his calm face, he
said drily,--

"I always thought your brother had married that woman; he wa