e first, and the only
one of his former acquaintance with whom for years he had been brought
into contact. That person recognized him at once, accosted him, followed
him home, and three days afterwards surprised him with a visit. Of
manners which, in their dissimulation, extended far beyond the ordinary
ease and breeding of the world, Crauford readily appeared not to notice
the altered circumstances of his old acquaintance; and, by a tone
of conversation artfully respectful, he endeavoured to remove from
Glendower's mind that soreness which his knowledge of human nature told
him his visit was calculated to create.

There is a certain species of pride which contradicts the ordinary
symptoms of the feeling, and appears most elevated when it would be
reasonable to expect it should be most depressed. Of this sort was
Glendower's. When he received the guest who had known him in his former
prosperity, some natural sentiment of emotion called, it is true, to his
pale cheek a momentary flush, as he looked round his humble apartment,
and the evident signs of poverty it contained; but his address was calm
and self-possessed, and whatever mortification he might have felt, no
intonation of his voice, no tell-tale embarrassment of manner, revealed
it. Encouraged by this air, even while he was secretly vexed by it,
and perfectly unable to do justice to the dignity of mind which gave
something of majesty rather than humiliation to misfortune, Crauford
resolved to repeat his visit, and by intervals, gradually lessening,
renewed it, till acquaintance seemed, though little tinctured, at least
on Glendower's side, by friendship, to assume the semblance of intimacy.
It was true, however, that he had something to struggle against in
Glendower's manner, which certainly grew colder in proportion to the
repetition of the visits; and at length Glendower said, with an ease and
quiet which abashed for a moment an effrontery of mind and manner which
was almost parallel, "Believe me, Mr. Crauford, I feel fully sensible of
your attentions; but as circumstances at present are such as to render
an intercourse between us little congenial to the habits and sentiments
of either, you will probably understand and forgive my motives in
wishing no longer to receive civilities which, however I may feel them,
I am unable to return."

Crauford coloured and hesitated before he replied. "Forgive me then,"
said he, "for my fault. I did venture to hope that no cir