st. If he could be true to himself,--with
such truth as at these moments would seem to him to be the truest
truth,--there was nothing in rank, nothing in ambition, which
might not be within his reach. He might live with the highest, the
best-educated, and the most beautiful; he might assist in directing
national councils by his intelligence; and might make a name for
himself which should be remembered in his country, and of which men
would read the records in the histories written in after ages. But to
do this, he must walk warily. He, an embarrassed man, a man already
in debt, a man with no realised property coming to him in reversion,
was called upon to live, and to live as though at his ease, among
those who had been born to wealth. And, indeed, he had so cleverly
learned the ways of the wealthy, that he hardly knew any longer how
to live at his ease among the poor.

But had he walked warily when he went down to Richmond, and
afterwards, sitting alone in the obscurity of his chamber, wrote the
letter which had made Lucy Morris so happy? It must be acknowledged
that he did, in truth, love the girl,--that he was capable of a
strong feeling. She was not beautiful,--hardly even pretty, small,
in appearance almost insignificant, quite penniless, a governess! He
had often asked himself what it was that had so vanquished him. She
always wore a pale grey frock,--with, perhaps, a grey ribbon,--never
running into any bright form of clothing. She was educated, very
well-educated; but she owned no great accomplishment. She had not
sung his heart away, or ravished him with the harp. Even of her words
she was sparing, seeming to care more to listen than to speak; a
humble little thing to look at,--one of whom you might say that she
regarded herself as well-placed if left in the background. Yet he
had found her out, and knew her. He had recognised the treasure, and
had greatly desired to possess it. He had confessed to himself that,
could splendour and ambition be laid aside, that little thing would
be all the world to him. As he sat in court, or in the House, patient
from practice as he half-listened to the ponderous speeches of
advocates or politicians, he would think of the sparkle in her eye,
of the dimple in her chin, of the lines of the mouth which could
plead so eloquently, though with few words. To sit on some high seat
among his countrymen, and also to marry Lucy Morris,--that would be a
high ambition. He had chosen his w