ed. The
last incident of our life shapes and colours our feelings. Ever since
he had settled in London, his life might be said to have been happy,
gradually and greatly prosperous. The devotion of his sister and the
eminent position she had achieved, the friendship of Lady Montfort, and
the kindness of society, who had received him with open arms, his easy
circumstances after painful narrowness of means, his honourable and
interesting position--these had been the chief among many other causes
which had justly rendered Endymion Ferrars a satisfied and contented
man. And it was more than to be hoped that not one of these sources
would be wanting in his future. And yet he felt dejected, even to
unhappiness. Myra figured to his painful consciousness only as deeply
wounded in her feelings, and he somehow the cause; Lady Montfort, from
whom he had never received anything but smiles and inspiring kindness,
and witty raillery, and affectionate solicitude for his welfare,
offended and estranged. And as for society, perhaps it would make
a great difference in his position if he were no longer a private
secretary to a cabinet minister and only a simple clerk; he could not,
even at this melancholy moment, dwell on his impending loss of income,
though that increase at the time had occasioned him, and those who loved
him, so much satisfaction. And yet was he in fault? Had his decision
been a narrow-minded and craven one? He could not bring himself to
believe so--his conscience assured him that he had acted rightly. After
all that he had experienced, he was prepared to welcome an obscure, but
could not endure a humiliating position.

It was a long summer evening. The House had not sat after the
announcement of the ministers. The twilight lingered with a charm almost
as irresistible as among woods and waters. Endymion had been engaged
to dine out, but had excused himself. Had it not been for the Montfort
misunderstanding, he would have gone; but that haunted him. He had not
called on her that day; he really had not courage to meet her. He was
beginning to think that he might never see her again; never, certainly,
on the same terms. She had the reputation of being capricious, though
she had been constant in her kindness to him. Never see her again, or
only see her changed! He was not aware of the fulness of his misery
before; he was not aware, until this moment, that unless he saw her
every day life would be intolerable.

He sat down