w your own
instincts when you feel you can do so without self-reproach, and all
will be well with you.--M."

His instincts led him to spend the day in Brussels, and he followed
them; he still wanted to walk about and muse and ponder, and
Brussels is a very nice, gay, and civilized city for such a
purpose--a little Paris, with charming streets and shops and a
charming arcade, and very good places to eat and drink in, and hear
pretty music.

He did all this, and spent a happy day.

Ho came to the conclusion that the only way to keenly appreciate and
thoroughly enjoy the priceless gift of sight in one eye was to lose
that of the other; in the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed is king,
and he fully revelled in the royalty that was now his, he hoped, for
evermore; but wished for himself as limited a kingdom and as few
subjects as possible.

Then back to Malines by the last train--and the sensation of the
north, and a good-night; but no message in the morning--no message
from Martia for many mornings to come.

He received, however, a long letter from Lady Caroline.

The old Marquis had died without pain, and with nearly all his
family round him; but perfectly childish, as he had been for two or
three years. He was to be buried on the following Monday.

Barty wrote a long letter in reply, telling his aunt how much better
he had suddenly become in health and spirits; how he had thought of
things, and quite reconciled himself at last to the loss of his left
eye, and meant to keep the other and make the best of it he could;
how he had heard of a certain Doctor Hasenclever, a famous oculist
near Duesseldorf, and would like to consult him; how Duesseldorf was
such a healthy town, charming and gay, full of painters and
soldiers, the best and nicest people in the world--and also very
cheap. Mightn't they try it?

He was very anxious indeed to go back to his painting, and
Duesseldorf was as good a school as any, etc., etc., etc. He wrote
pages--of the kind he knew she would like, for it was of the kind he
liked writing to her; they understood each other thoroughly, he and
Lady Caroline, and well he knew that she could only be quite happy
in doing whatever he had most at heart.

How he longed to tell her everything! but that must not be. I can
imagine all the deep discomfort to poor Barty of having to be
discreet for the first time in his life, of having to keep a
secret--and from his beloved Aunt Caroline of all people in