success, quite possibly
from charity to his neighbors; his frown in adversity from displeasure at
the triumphs of the wicked, for such in his heart he had set down Miss
Wigram to be; and his unconquerable gravity in the employment from a
profound regard to the dignity of his holy office.

The fourth performer in this trial of memories was an ancient lady, gaily
dressed, and intently eager on the game. Between her and the young man was
a large pile of guineas, which appeared to be her exclusive property, from
which she repeatedly, during the play, tendered one to his acceptance on
the event of a hand or a trick, and to which she seldom failed from
inadvertence to add his mite, contributing to accumulate the pile.

"Two double and the rub, my dear doctor," exclaimed the senior lady, in
triumph. "Sir William, you owe me ten."

The money was paid as easily as it had been won, and the dowager proceeded
to settle some bets with her female antagonist.

"Two more, I fancy, ma'am," said she, closely scanning the contributions
of the maiden.

"I believe it is right, my lady," was the answer, with a look that said
pretty plainly, that or nothing.

"I beg pardon, my dear, here are but four; and you remember two on the
corner, and four on the points. Doctor, I will trouble you for a couple of
guineas from Miss Wigram's store, I am in haste to get to the Countess's
route."

The doctor was coolly helping himself from the said store, under the
watchful eyes of its owner, and secretly exulting in his own judgment in
requiring the stakes, when the maiden replied in great warmth,

"Your ladyship forgets the two you lost to me at Mrs. Howard's."

"It must be a mistake, my dear, I always pay as I lose," cried the
dowager, with great spirit, stretching over the table and helping herself
to the disputed money.

Mr. Benfield and Emily had stood silent spectators of the whole scene, the
latter in astonishment to meet such manners in such society, and the
former under feelings it would have been difficult to describe; for in the
face of the Dowager which was inflamed partly from passion and more from
high living, he recognised the remains of his Lady Juliana, now the
Dowager Viscountess Haverford.

"Emmy, dear," said the old man, with a heavy-drawn sigh, as if awaking
from a long and troubled dream, "we will go."

The phantom of forty years had vanished before the truth and the fancies
of retirement, simplicity, and a diseased ima