wealth, he despised its luxury. Simple, masculine, severe, abstemious,
he was of that mould in which, in earlier times, the successful men of
action have been cast. But to successful action, circumstance is more
necessary than to triumphant study.

It was to be expected that, in proportion as he had been familiar with
a purer and nobler life, he should look with great and deep
self-humiliation at his early association with Gawtrey. He was in this
respect more severe on himself than any other mind ordinarily just and
candid would have been,--when fairly surveying the circumstances of
penury, hunger, and despair, which had driven him to Gawtrey's roof, the
imperfect nature of his early education, the boyish trust and affection
he had felt for his protector, and his own ignorance of, and exemption
from, all the worst practices of that unhappy criminal. But still, when,
with the knowledge he had now acquired, the man looked calmly back, his
cheek burned with remorseful shame at his unreflecting companionship in
a life of subterfuge and equivocation, the true nature of which, the
boy (so circumstanced as we have shown him) might be forgiven for not
at that time comprehending. Two advantages resulted, however, from the
error and the remorse: first, the humiliation it brought curbed, in some
measure, a pride that might otherwise have been arrogant and unamiable,
and, secondly, as I have before intimated, his profound gratitude to
Heaven for his deliverance from the snares that had beset his youth gave
his future the guide of an earnest and heartfelt faith. He acknowledged
in life no such thing as accident. Whatever his struggles, whatever his
melancholy, whatever his sense of worldly wrong, he never despaired; for
nothing now could shake his belief in one directing Providence.

The ways and habits of Vaudemont were not at discord with those of the
quiet household in which he was now a guest. Like most men of strong
frames, and accustomed to active, not studious pursuits, he rose
early;--and usually rode to London, to come back late at noon to their
frugal meal. And if again, perhaps after the hour when Fanny and Simon
retired, he would often return to London, his own pass-key re-admitted
him, at whatever time he came back, without disturbing the sleep of
the household. Sometimes, when the sun began to decline, if the air was
warm, the old man would crawl out, leaning on that strong arm, through
the neighbouring lanes, ever r