me it is music. What grand voices you and Louis have! When Louis
sings--tones off like a soft, deep bell--I've felt myself tremble again.
The night is still. It listens. It is just leaning down to you, like a
black priest to a blacker penitent. Confess, lad. Smooth naught down. Be
candid as a convicted, justified, sanctified Methody at an experience
meeting. Make yourself as wicked as Beelzebub. It will ease your mind."

"As mean as Mammon, you would say. Yorke, if I got off horseback and
laid myself down across the road, would you have the goodness to gallop
over me, backwards and forwards, about twenty times?"

"Wi' all the pleasure in life, if there were no such thing as a
coroner's inquest."

"Hiram Yorke, I certainly believed she loved me. I have seen her eyes
sparkle radiantly when she has found me out in a crowd; she has flushed
up crimson when she has offered me her hand, and said, 'How do you do,
Mr. Moore?'

"My name had a magical influence over her. When others uttered it she
changed countenance--I know she did. She pronounced it herself in the
most musical of her many musical tones. She was cordial to me; she took
an interest in me; she was anxious about me; she wished me well; she
sought, she seized every opportunity to benefit me. I considered,
paused, watched, weighed, wondered. I could come to but one
conclusion--this is love.

"I looked at her, Yorke. I saw in her youth and a species of beauty. I
saw power in her. Her wealth offered me the redemption of my honour and
my standing. I owed her gratitude. She had aided me substantially and
effectually by a loan of five thousand pounds. Could I remember these
things? Could I believe she loved me? Could I hear wisdom urge me to
marry her, and disregard every dear advantage, disbelieve every
flattering suggestion, disdain every well-weighed counsel, turn and
leave her? Young, graceful, gracious--my benefactress, attached to me,
enamoured of me. I used to say so to myself; dwell on the word; mouth it
over and over again; swell over it with a pleasant, pompous complacency,
with an admiration dedicated entirely to myself, and unimpaired even by
esteem for her; indeed I smiled in deep secrecy at her _naivete_ and
simplicity in being the first to love, and to show it. That whip of
yours seems to have a good heavy handle, Yorke; you can swing it about
your head and knock me out of the saddle, if you choose. I should rather
relish a loundering whack."

"Tak pa