A great defeat to my personal ambition I could resist. The
casualty that should exclude me from a proud position and public life,
I could bear up against with patience, and I hope with dignity. Loss of
fortune, loss of influence, loss of station, loss of health even, dearer
than them all, can be borne. There is but one intolerable ill, one
that no time alleviates, no casuistry diminishes,--loss of honor!
Ay, Harcourt, rank and riches do little for him who feels himself the
inferior of the meanest that elbows him in a crowd; and the man whose
name is a scoff and a jibe has but one part to fill,--to make himself
forgotten."

"I hope I 'm not deficient in a sense of personal honor, Glencore," said
Harcourt; "but I must say that I think your reasoning on this point is
untenable and wrong."

"Let us not speak more of it," said Glencore, faintly. "I know not how
I have been led to allude to what it is better to bear in secret than
to confide even to friendship;" and he pressed the strong fingers of the
other as he spoke, in his own feeble grasp. "Leave me now, Harcourt, and
send Upton here. It may be that the time is come when I shall be able to
speak to him."

"You are too weak to-day, Glencore,--too much agitated. Pray defer this
interview."

"No, Harcourt; these are my moments of strength. The little energy now
left to me is the fruit of strong excitement. Heaven knows how I shall
be to-morrow."

Harcourt made no further opposition, but left the room in search of
Upton.

It was full an hour later when Sir Horace Upton made his appearance in
Glencore's chamber, attired in a purple dressing-gown, profusely braided
with gold, loose trousers as richly brocaded, and a pair of real Turkish
slippers, resplendent with costly embroidery; a small fez of blue
velvet, with a deep gold tassel, covered the top of his head, at
either side of which his soft silky hair descended in long massy waves,
apparently negligently, but in reality arranged with all the artistic
regard to effect of a consummate master. From the gold girdle at his
waist depended a watch, a bunch of keys, a Turkish purse, an embroidered
tobacco-bag, a gorgeously chased smelling-bottle, and a small stiletto,
with a topaz handle. In one hand he carried a meerschaum, the other
leaned upon a cane, and with all the dependence of one who could not
walk without its aid. The greeting was cordial and affectionate on both
sides; and when Sir Horace, after a variety of p