He might as well, he felt, love some bright, particular star.

And the injury he would be inflicting upon her, by encouraging such thoughts - even if the idea had not been absolute madness was sufficient to steel him against the sore temptation.

Yet he could not regret the explanation that had taken place between them. That was a source of felicity; a mine of inestimable wealth, of which nothing could deprive him.

That she could have loved him, had his fallen fortunes not rendered such an idea a dream of the wildest insanity, was enough for a life.

It would be his life, at least, he felt.

"Really, my dear ..." began Mr. Marston to his daughter, as, the inspection of the saloon being at last finished, the workman was left to his pencil, and they were strolling together by the side of the lake, watching a majestic pair of swans, which, followed by their cygnets, sailed slowly up, shaking out their snowwhite feathers, reflected in the water - both swan and shadow.

..."Beautiful things those swans, by the by. I am glad I bought them. Three pair we have. That's not enough - but we must get more. But really, my dear, I am very much pleased with what that young fellow has done. 'Pon my credit, I did not say one word in

his praise that I did not think most richly deserved. One usually exaggerates a little with poets, painters, actors, and that sort of gentry; but I give you my word, I did not utter a syllable I did not think. The room is wonderfully well done, and so Pouncet will say when he comes. - I expect him here in a day or two. I look upon the young chap's fortune as made."

"So you said before - so you took the liberty of saying to his face;" her cheek flushing with anger. "You don't seem the least to know who Mr. Du Chastel is, papa, when you treat him like I don't know what. He is a gentleman born and bred."

"Stuff! What romance have you got into your head? I know who he is, rather better than you do, I take it, Miss Marston. He's the son of Du Chastel, once a master weaver in Spital Fields."

"He is a descendant of the Marquis Du Chastel, who was driven from France for his religion, son of the Count Du Chastel, who suffered so terribly for his ...... he is......"

"French refugees, eh? That does mend the matter - a parcel of French Counts and Marquises in rags what do we know? All foreigners are Counts, or Chevaliers - or I don't know what. All I do know is, that the father of this lad was a master weaver in Spital Fields - that he made a most insane speculation for some romantic notion or other, and was ruined. The only thing that makes me believe he was a Count at all,

is that he made such a mess of business. These fine gentry are sure to do that, when they meddle with what they don't understand, and what it requires a little good English sense to understand."

"Yes, I know," she said disdainfully. "He was pious, generous, and compassionate.... Such things are very much out of their place in trade."

1

"What do you mean by that?" turning sharply round. "Let me hear you say that again."

"I would say it again - if..."

"If what? pray."

"If you could bear it."

"I bear it. As if I cared. And yet I do care. I don't know what's come to you, Evelyn. You are quite an altered creature - Nothing to say for yourself, but just one or two things, which, give me leave to say, Miss Marston, I think might have been as well not said."

...

"I beg your pardon, papa, if I was rude but however it is no use talking of it. I believe we must see things differently."

"Why, possibly so - A silly, pert girl, hardly of age, and a man who has lived fifty years in the world, usually do see things somewhat differently. One learns what stars and garters are worth, for one thing; or rather what a set of empty titles, with neither stars nor garters belonging to them, are worth in the world. But if you want to befriend the poor young fellow, take my advice,

...

Evelyn. Don't encourage him to puff himself up with nonsense of this sort. He is a very pretty artist, and if he sticks to it, he'll get on very well, believe me; but if he's blown up with the silly pride of his birth, forsooth! a French refugee, and please you! Why, it's what nobody but a romantic girl like yourself would care a button for, and it's best he should be made aware of the fact, if he has not already found it out. Who'll bear to have that sort of thing thrust into their faces by a poor beggarly fellow with hardly a coat to his back? The man who pays is the prince for me - and so this young genius will soon find, if he tries to set himself up for something more than he is namely, the very humble servant of any one who will be good enough to employ him."

She made no answer. She could not, and she dared not if she could. Her whole proud, warm heart was running over with indignation - her cheeks were crimsoll. It was all she could do to keep the tears from starting into her eyes.

She turned away.

"Oh! but," said her heart, "they may talk as they will. They may scorn him; but they shall not teach me to scorn him, though I know what an infectious thing scorn is. They may look upon him with contempt and I know how easy it is to learn to look with contempt on others

They may despise this noble, brave, generous, self-sacrifice; this devotion to God; this love for man......

"I know how easy all this is; for I have but just learned to feel things differently. They may set no value upon anything but riches, and power, and luxury, and splendour.

"Oh, I know it. I used to be just so myself; but it will not be so again with me.

"No. I am learning I think I am beginning to understand what life really is and that it is not money, and fine houses, and fine clothes and pride, and selfishness, but that it is quite quite a different thing. "The choice of Hercules!

"Has not every one once in their lives to make that choice?

"Well, then, I have made it.

"I care not what they may think or say. They may ridicule me as romantic; they may abuse me as absurd; they may rail at my obstinacy and folly; but my choice is made.

"He shall not be the mark for contemptuous compassion, insolent patronage, and praise.

"He shall be an independent man.

"He loves me. He tries to hide it; but I know he does love me, and I can oh, thank, thank Heaven for it! I can raise him, deliver him from this insupportable dependence, for his own and his parents' bread.