tately head. "Yes, I suspect that the coveting organ had much
to do with the boast. To build a name was the earliest dream of
Themistocles, if we are to accept the anecdote that makes him say, 'The
trophies of Miltiades would not suffer him to sleep,' To build a name,
or to create a fortune, are but varying applications of one human
passion. The desire of something we have not is the first of our
childish remembrances: it matters not what form it takes, what object it
longs for; still it is to acquire! it never deserts us while we live."

"And yet, if I might, I should like to ask, what you now desire that you
do not possess?"

"I--nothing; but I spoke of the living! I am dead. Only," added Darrell,
with his silvery laugh, "I say, as poor Chesterfield said before me, 'It
is a secret: keep it.'"

Lionel made no reply; the melancholy of the words saddened him: but
Darrell's manner repelled the expression of sympathy or of interest; and
the boy fell into conjecture, what had killed to the world this man's
intellectual life?

And thus silently they continued to wander on till the sound of the
flute had long been lost to their ears. Was the musician playing still?

At length they came round to the other end of Fawley village, and
Darrell again became animated.

"Perhaps," said he, returning to the subject of talk that had been
abruptly suspended,--"perhaps the love of power is at the origin of each
restless courtship of Fortune: yet, after all, who has power with less
alloy than the village thane? With so little effort, so little thought,
the man in the manor-house can make men in the cottage happier here
below and more fit for a hereafter yonder. In leaving the world I come
from contest and pilgrimage, like our sires the Crusaders, to reign at
home."

As he spoke, he entered one of the cottages. An old paralytic man was
seated by the fire, hot though the July sun was out of doors; and his
wife, of the same age, and almost as helpless, was reading to him a
chapter in the Old Testament,--the fifth chapter in Genesis, containing
the genealogy, age, and death of the patriarchs before the Flood. How
the faces of the couple brightened when Darrell entered. "Master Guy!"
said the old man, tremulously rising. The world-weary orator and lawyer
was still Master Guy to him.

"Sit down, Matthew, and let, me read you a chapter." Darrell took the
Holy Book, and read the Sermon on the Mount. Never had Lionel heard
anything like