r been sensible. There,
evening after evening, he sat,--his attention roaming from his
employment to feed on his sad reflections.

One evening he went to the large dark dining-room, unlocked the door,
which echoed far through the house, and found his way through the
packed-up furniture to a picture against the wall, to which he held up
his light. It was a portrait by Lely, a half-length of a young man, one
hand on his sword, the other holding his plumed hat. His dark chestnut
hair fell on each side of a bright youthful face, full of life and
health, and with eyes which, even in painting, showed what their
vividness must have been. The countenance was full of spirit and joy;
but the mouth was more hard and stern than suited the rest; and there
was something in the strong, determined grasp of the sword, which made
it seem as if the hand might be a characteristic portrait. In the corner
of the picture was the name--'Hugo Morville. AEt. 2O, 1671.'

Guy stood holding up his light, and looking fixedly at it for a
considerable time. Strange thoughts passed through his mind as the
pictured eyes seemed to gaze piercingly down into his own. When he
turned away, he muttered aloud,--

'He, too, would have said--"Is thy servant a dog, that he should do
this?"'

It seemed to him as if he had once been in a happier, better world, with
the future dawning brightly on him; but as if that once yielding to the
passions inherited from that wretched man, had brought on him the doom
of misery. He had opened the door to the powers of evil, and must bear
the penalty.

These feelings might partly arise from its having been only now that,
had all been well, he could have been with Amabel; so that it seemed as
if he had never hitherto appreciated the loss. He had at first comforted
himself by thinking it was better to be without her than to cause her
distress; but now he found how hard it was to miss her--his bright
angel. Darkness was closing on him; a tedious, aimless life spread out
before him; a despair of doing good haunted him, and with it a sense of
something like the presence of an evil spirit, triumphing in his having
once put himself within its grasp.

It was well for Guy that he was naturally active, and had acquired
power over his own mind. He would not allow himself to brood over
these thoughts by day, and in the evening he busied himself as much as
possible with his studies, or in going over with Markham matters that
would be