ew that all that was over. But not the less
did Graham recognise her claim. The very bonnet which she must wear
when she stood before the altar with Fitzallen must be paid for out
of Graham's pocket. That hobby of moulding a young lady is perhaps of
all hobbies the most expensive to which a young gentleman can apply
himself.

And in these days he heard no word from Noningsby. Augustus Staveley
was up in town, and once or twice they saw each other. But, as may
easily be imagined, nothing was said between them about Madeline. As
Augustus had once declared, a man does not talk to his friend about
his own sister. And then hearing nothing--as indeed how could he
have heard anything?--Graham endeavoured to assure himself that that
was all over. His hopes had ran high at that moment when his last
interview with the judge had taken place; but after all to what did
that amount? He had never even asked Madeline to love him. He had
been such a fool that he had made no use of those opportunities which
chance had thrown in his way. He had been told that he might fairly
aspire to the hand of any lady. And yet when he had really loved, and
the girl whom he had loved had been close to him, he had not dared
to speak to her! How could he now expect that she, in his absence,
should care for him?

With all these little troubles around him he went to work on Lady
Mason's case, and at first felt thoroughly well inclined to give her
all the aid in his power. He saw Mr. Furnival on different occasions,
and did much to charm that gentleman by his enthusiasm in this
matter. Mr. Furnival himself could no longer be as enthusiastic as he
had been. The skill of a lawyer he would still give if necessary, but
the ardour of the loving friend was waxing colder from day to day.
Would it not be better, if such might be possible, that the whole
affair should be given up to the hands of Chaffanbrass who could be
energetic without belief, and of Graham who was energetic because
he believed? So he would say to himself frequently. But then he
would think again of her pale face and acknowledge that this was
impossible. He must go on till the end. But, nevertheless, if this
young man could believe, would it not be well that he should bear the
brunt of the battle? That fighting of a battle without belief is, I
think, the sorriest task which ever falls to the lot of any man.

But, as the day grew nigh, a shadow of unbelief, a dim passing
shade--a shade which w