in less than two hours from the time we entered the inn
we were on the road to Gerald. What an impulse to the wheel of destiny
had the event of that one day given!

At another time, I might have gleaned amusement from the shrewd roguery
of my companion, but he found me then but a dull listener. I served him,
in truth, as men of his stamp are ordinarily served: so soon as I had
extracted from him whatever was meet for present use, I favoured him
with little further attention. He had exhausted all the communications
it was necessary for me to know; so, in the midst of a long story about
Italy, Jesuits, and the wisdom of Marie Oswald, I affected to fall
asleep; my companion soon followed my example in earnest, and left me to
meditate, undisturbed, over all that I had heard, and over the schemes
now the most promising of success. I soon taught myself to look with a
lenient eye on Gerald's after-connivance in Montreuil's forgery; and I
felt that I owed to my surviving brother so large an arrear of affection
for the long injustice I had rendered him that I was almost pleased
to find something set upon the opposite score. All men, perhaps, would
rather forgive than be forgiven. I resolved, therefore, to affect
ignorance of Gerald's knowledge of the forgery; and, even should he
confess it, to exert all my art to steal from the confession its shame.
From this train of reflection my mind soon directed itself to one far
fiercer and more intense; and I felt my heart pause, as if congealing
into marble, when I thought of Montreuil and anticipated justice.

It was nearly noon on the following day when we arrived at Lord------'s
house. We found that Gerald had left it the day before, for the
enjoyment of the field-sports at Devereux Court, and thither we
instantly proceeded.

It has often seemed to me that if there be, as certain ancient
philosophers fabled, one certain figure pervading all nature, human and
universal, it is _the circle_. Round, in one vast monotony, one eternal
gyration, roll the orbs of space. Thus moves the spirit of creative
life, kindling, progressing, maturing, decaying, perishing, reviving and
rolling again, and so onward forever through the same course; and thus
even would seem to revolve the mysterious mechanism of human events
and actions. Age, ere it returns to "the second childishness, the
mere oblivion" from which it passes to the grave, returns also to the
memories and the thoughts of youth: its burie