er, insensible to the
weather, walked slowly and thoughtfully towards his cousin's house. He
was playing for a mighty stake, and hitherto the cast was in his favour,
yet he was uneasy and perturbed. His conscience was tolerably proof to
all compunction, as much from the levity as from the strength of his
nature; and (Maltravers removed) he trusted in his knowledge of the
human heart, and the smooth speciousness of his manner, to win, at last,
in the hand of Lady Florence, the object of his ambition. It was not
on her affection, it was on her pique, her resentment, that he relied.
"When a woman fancies herself slighted by the man she loves, the first
person who proposes must be a clumsy wooer indeed, if he does not carry
her away." So reasoned Ferrers, but yet he was ruffled and disquieted;
the truth must be spoken,--able, bold, sanguine, and scornful as he was,
his spirit quailed before that of Maltravers; he feared the lion of that
nature when fairly aroused: his own character had in it something of a
woman's--an unprincipled, gifted, aspiring, and subtle woman's,--and
in Maltravers--stern, simple, and masculine--he recognised the
superior dignity of the "lords of the creation;" he was overawed by the
anticipation of a wrath and revenge which he felt he merited, and which
he feared might be deadly.

While gradually, however, his spirit recovered its usual elasticity,
he came in the vicinity of Lord Saxingham's house, and suddenly, by
a corner of the street, his arm was seized: to his inexpressible
astonishment he recognised in the muffled figure that accosted him the
form of Florence Lascelles.

"Good heavens!" he cried, "is it possible?--You, alone in the streets,
at this hour, in such a night, too! How very wrong--how very imprudent!"

"Do not talk to me--I am almost mad as it is: I could not rest--I could
not brave quiet, solitude,--still less, the face of my father--I
could not!--but quick, what says he?--What excuse has he? Tell me
everything--I will cling to a straw."

"And is this the proud Florence Lascelles?"

"No,--it is the humbled Florence Lascelles. I have done with
pride--speak to me!"

"Ah, what a treasure is such a heart! How can he throw it away?"

"Does he deny?"

"He denies nothing--he expresses himself rejoiced to have escaped--such
was his expression--a marriage in which his heart never was engaged. He
is unworthy of you--forget him."

Florence shivered, and as Ferrers drew her arm in hi