e evening, he went
away from the offices at the Adelphi, feeling it to be quite impossible
that he should recommence his work there at that moment, even should it
ever be within his power to do so. Nor did Burton expect that he should
stay. He understood, from what had passed, much of Harry's trouble, if
not the whole of it; and though he did not despair on behalf of his
sister, he was aware that her lover had fallen into a difficulty, from
which he could not extricate himself without great suffering and much
struggling. But Burton was a man who, in spite of something cynical on
the surface of his character, believed well of mankind generally, and
well also of men as individuals. Even though Harry had done amiss, he
might be saved. And though Harry's conduct to Florence might have been
bad, nay, might have been false, still, as Burton believed, he was too
good to be cast aside, or spurned out of the way, without some further
attempt to save him.

When Clavering had left him Burton went back to his work, and after a
while succeeded in riveting his mind on the papers before him. It was a
hard struggle with him, but he did it, and did not leave his business
till his usual hour. It was past five when he took down his hat and his
umbrella, and, as I fear, dusted his boots before he passed out of the
office on to the passage. As he went he gave sundry directions to
porters and clerks, as was his wont, and then walked off intent upon his
usual exercise before he should reach his home.

But he had to determine on much with reference to Florence and Harry
before he saw his wife. How was the meeting of the evening to take
place, and in what way should it be commenced? If there were
indispensable cause for his anger, in what way should he show it, and if
necessity for vengeance, how should his sister be avenged? There is
nothing more difficult for a man than the redressing of injuries done to
a woman who is very near to him and very dear to him. The whole theory
of Christian meekness and forgiveness becomes broken to pieces and falls
to the ground, almost as an absurd theory, even at the idea of such
wrong. What man ever forgave an insult to his wife or an injury to his
sister, because he had taught himself that to forgive trespasses is a
religious duty? Without an argument, without a moment's thought, the man
declares to himself that such trespasses as those are not included in
the general order. But what is he to do? Thirty yea