"L I B RAHY 
 
 OF THE 
 UNIVERS ITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 N. l
 
 3&"
 
 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 5t £loM. 
 
 BY FLORENCE MARRYAT, 
 
 (MRS. ROSS CHURCH) 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 love's CONFLICT." " YERONIQUE," 
 AND MASTER," ETC., ETC. 
 
 HER LORD 
 
 •'Where, when the Gods would be cruel, 
 Do they go for a torture ? — where 
 Plant thorns, set pain like a jewel? 
 Ah ! not in the flesh, not there ! 
 The rocks of the earth, and the rods 
 Are weak as foam on the sands ; 
 In the heart is the prey of the Gods, 
 Who crucify hearts — not hands." 
 
 A. C. Swinburne. 
 
 " If the sense is hard 
 To alien ears, I did not speak to these. 
 N o, not to thee, but to thyself in me." — Tennyson. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1871. 
 
 [All Rights reserved.]
 
 1 
 -J 
 
 0- 
 
 Is 
 
 It 71 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL I. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 
 I. 
 
 
 II. 
 
 
 III. 
 
 
 IV. 
 
 n 
 
 V. 
 
 'i 
 
 1 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 *3 
 
 IX. 
 
 
 X. 
 
 N 
 
 XI. 
 
 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 
 t 
 
 XIV. 
 
 COMING EVENTS 
 
 LADY GWYNNE'S PRESENTIMENT 
 
 PUTTING OFF THE EVIL MOMENT 
 
 THE CLOUD BPvEAKS 
 
 UNDER THE WALNUT TREE 
 
 A MATTER FOR THOUGHT 
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF . 
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP 
 
 DANGEROUS CONFIDENCES 
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY . 
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE . 
 
 SIGNING THE WARRANT . 
 
 A NEW COMPACT . 
 
 ON THE VERGE 
 
 PAGK 
 1 
 
 22 
 
 39 
 
 57 
 
 81 
 
 101 
 
 122 
 
 140 
 
 169 
 
 188 
 
 213 
 
 241 
 
 257 
 
 281
 
 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 h 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 COMING EVENTS. 
 
 ~T is generally acknowledged that of all 
 the tasks society imposes on us, the 
 effort to amuse a party of dinner guests 
 when their powers of mastication are no 
 longer put in requisition, is the one least 
 likely to meet with success. 
 
 And if this is the case in town, where 
 
 the latest criticism, literary, artistic, or 
 
 political, the best authenticated scandal, 
 
 and the freshest bon-mot from the clubs, 
 
 vol. i. 1
 
 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 pass readily from mouth to mouth, how 
 much more so must it be in the country, 
 when, the contents of the daily papers 
 being exhausted, and the prospect of the 
 hunting, or shooting season discussed, 
 nothing remains but the state of the eter- 
 nal crops, to afford mental sustenance to 
 those who have left their lower organs 
 nothing more to do. 
 
 Certainly the bored and languid expres- 
 sion on the faces of the dozen or more men 
 and women, guests of Sir Lyster and Lady 
 Gwynne, who are scattered about the 
 drawing-room of Felton Hall, on the sultry 
 August evening on which this story opens, 
 does not seem as though it contradicted the 
 assertion. 
 
 Sir Lyster himself, with the character- 
 istic British obstinacy that will not con- 
 ceive a grate without a fire, is standing on 
 the hearthrug with his hands beneath his
 
 COMING EVENTS. 
 
 coat tails, carefully airing his nether gar- 
 ments before a heap of white and gold 
 shavings, whilst he lays down the law on 
 the subject now under discussion, with 
 that assumption of complete and un- 
 answerable knowledge, which is the usual 
 index to a mind inconceivably ignorant 
 and brutishly dull ; and his appearance 
 bears out the character suggested by his 
 demeanour. Of middle age and height, 
 with grizzled curly hair, and a pair of 
 whiskers of the regular old-fashioned " mut- 
 ton chop" style, the secret conveyed by his 
 sensual mouth and heavy chin, is passed 
 over by such as are not keen observers of 
 the outward signs of inward nature, in 
 favour of the wide-open, round, blue eyes, 
 which have usually a twinkle in them, and 
 are always bright and clear. 
 
 Self-seeking, and the amiability which 
 follows success in the pursuit of pleasure, 
 
 1— to
 
 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 are stamped on every feature of his florid 
 countenance ; but yet there are many 
 people (chiefly women) to be found, who, 
 on the strength of his eyes, are ready to 
 affirm that Sir Lyster Gwynne is the 
 most good-tempered of men ; and that no 
 one who looked at him could doubt it for 
 a moment. 
 
 But then the same individuals are quite 
 as ready to take their oaths of the indis- 
 putable happiness of Lady Gwynne. 
 
 There is a pause in the baronet's noisy 
 declamation : a pause during which he 
 looks triumphantly at his neighbours, and 
 imagines that the politeness that keeps 
 them silent, is the effect of his own un- 
 answerable argument ; and for the first 
 time since he commenced to talk, the 
 voice of another is permitted to be aud- 
 ible. 
 
 " Any truth in presentiments ? Je m'en
 
 COMING EVENTS. 5 
 
 doute. Do you believe in them yourself, 
 Lady Gwynne V 
 
 She is sitting on a sofa at some distance 
 from her husband, the centre of a group 
 of young people of both sexes ; and as the 
 question is addressed to her, she raises her 
 face towards the speaker. 
 
 A fair face, certainly : fair and pale and 
 delicate, with no especial beauty except 
 such as is conveyed by earnest eyes, and a 
 tremulous sensitive mouth ; but with that 
 stamped on it, which, were the features 
 the most perfect in the world, would draw 
 away the attention of the beholder to be 
 riveted upon itself, — and that is her ex- 
 pression. For when not engrossed by any 
 topic of immediate interest, there is a 
 vague, yearning look upon the face of Lady 
 Gwynne, which tells of a desire, that con- 
 sciously, or unconsciously to herself, has 
 never yet been satisfied. And the unsuc-
 
 6 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 cessful search lias drawn premature lines 
 about her eyes and forehead, and caused 
 the corners of her mouth to droop too much 
 for that of a happy and contented woman 
 of five-and-twenty. 
 
 " Believe in presentiments, Major Cal- 
 vert ? No, I don't think I do ; at all 
 events I never had one that came true. I 
 remember I had a horrid presentiment 
 once that Daisy would meet with an acci- 
 dent on a certain day, and took all sorts 
 of precautions in consequence, but it 
 never came to anything. If I was ever 
 disposed to be superstitious, I think that 
 cured me." 
 
 She is talking almost gaily now, the 
 undefinable expression of disappointment 
 having faded out of her face, and left it 
 for the moment as it ought ever to be — 
 young and radiant. * 
 
 " But putting superstition, which can-
 
 COMING EVENTS. 
 
 not be too highly deprecated, on one side," 
 remarks Mr. Laurence, the rector of Fel- 
 ton, for whom Lady Grwynne has a very 
 high respect, " do you not think it at the 
 least probable, that occasionally such con- 
 victions are granted in order to warn us 
 against danger that may be averted V 
 
 " Do we ever take advantage of such 
 warnings, Mr. Laurence ?" 
 
 " In your own case, with regard to your 
 child, you say you did." 
 
 " Ah, that was all nonsense ! I was 
 ashamed of myself for it afterwards." 
 
 " What has always struck me as so 
 suspicious about presentiments," resumes 
 Major Calvert, who is one of the guests 
 then resident at Felton Hall, " is, that we 
 never hear anything about them till their 
 prognostications have been proved correct. 
 What I should like would be to receive 
 the confidence of my friend as soon as the
 
 8 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 conviction strikes his mind, and then watch 
 with him the issue of events." 
 
 " Well, next time I have a presentiment 
 with regard to Daisy, Major Calvert, I 
 promise I will let you know." 
 
 " And take no precautions, Lady 
 Gwynne V 
 
 " Ah ! that is too much to ask me." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," says Mr. Laurence, 
 almost in her ear. " If we would rest 
 calmly on the thought of the future, we 
 must do our best in the present. Heaven 
 helps those who help themselves." 
 
 But here Sir Lyster's loud voice again 
 fills the apartment, and directs the atten- 
 tion of everyone present to itself 
 
 " You may take my word for it," he is 
 exclaiming, " that the Conservative Go- 
 vernment will never find itself in power 
 again." 
 
 " But should this bill pass " com-
 
 COMING EVENTS. 9 
 
 mences Stanley Penryhn, who is brother 
 to the county member, and a man with 
 unusual opportunities for gaining private in- 
 formation with respect to political matters. 
 " The bill be hanged !" interrupted his 
 host, with that sweet indifference to eti- 
 quette that is the characteristic of men of 
 his metal. " I wouldn't believe it from 
 the Premier's own mouth. The Conserva- 
 tives have had their day, and they'd better 
 make the most of it. That's my advice to 
 
 them ! — What's that ? — a letter ?" 
 
 And seizing an epistle from the salver 
 which a servant has just presented to him, 
 Sir Lyster tears off the envelope, and com- 
 mences to devour its contents, whilst his 
 friends, delighted with the opportunity to 
 escape from his blatant boredom, walk off 
 to the other side of the drawing-room, and 
 wish they could devise a decent motive for 
 retiring from the scene altogether.
 
 10 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 It is a large, official-looking envelope, 
 with a splashy red seal, that Sir Lyster has 
 received. Lady Gwynne noticed the seal 
 as it was carried into the apartment, and 
 feels an unusual curiosity to learn from 
 whom it comes. 
 
 Her friends continue to address her upon 
 various subjects, and she to answer them ; 
 but her attention is only partially arrested, 
 and her flashed and careworn face keeps 
 turning to the hearth-rug, where her hus- 
 band is interweaving the perusal of his 
 letter with a dislocated commentary which 
 is equally uninteresting and unintelligible 
 to most of his hearers. 
 
 " Dear me ! — Very remarkable ! — Very 
 gratifying ! — How people do come together 
 in this world. — His son, too ! — Very 
 strange ! — Who would have dreamt of 
 it?" 
 
 At last she speaks to him.
 
 COMING EVENTS. 11 
 
 " What is it, Lyster ? No bad news, I 
 hope I" 
 
 " Oh, dear no ! Quite the contrary — 
 only a coincidence ! But really it's the 
 most curious thing possible. Here's this 
 fellow," — slapping the envelope to denote 
 which fellow — " whom I've not even heard 
 of since we were chums together at Cam- 
 bridge, writes to tell me that his son, 
 having fallen into ill-health from over-work, 
 has been ordered perfect rest and quiet, 
 and is staying at Burwood — that little 
 place the other side of Leighton, you know. 
 — His son ! Ill from overwork ! Pshaw ! 
 how absurd it seems. Why, when we 
 parted, he had only just gone into tail 
 coats himself. It is incredible !" 
 
 " But whose son ? Of whom are you 
 speaking V 
 
 " William Slade's— old Bill Slade, that 
 was in the first form with me at Eton,
 
 12 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 and is now, by his own showing, Master of 
 the Blankshire Foxhounds, and magistrate 
 of the county. From what he says here, 
 I presume that his son — what does he call 
 him ? — Auberon, is literary, though what 
 Bill Slade can have been about to bring up 
 his eldest son to anything of that sort, 
 I am unable to imagine." 
 
 Sir Lyster says " anything of that sort/' 
 in a voice of the supremest contempt. His 
 physical temperament is robust and hearty 
 in the extreme; he no more believes in 
 sentiment than he does in physic ; ignores 
 a heartache with a headache ; and has a 
 wholesome horror of anything like poetry, 
 painting, or the fine arts. 
 
 But as he speaks, Lady Gwynne's 
 eyes deepen, and her colour comes and 
 goes. 
 
 " What name did you say, Lyster ? 
 Auberon Slade — surely not the poet ?"
 
 COMING EVENTS. 13 
 
 At this suggestion there arises a chorus 
 of interrogation. 
 
 " What ! the author of ' Memories/ and 
 the < Satire of Life V " 
 
 " Oh, it cannot be. Why his volumes 
 were the rage of last season." 
 
 " Hasn't he written a novel too ? That 
 one that the Times made such a fuss 
 about V 
 
 " It must be a connection. Yet the 
 name is an uncommon one." 
 
 They are all buzzing about Sir Lyster as 
 though they were a swarm of bees, and the 
 name of Auberon Slade the sacrilegious 
 hand that has upset them. Only Lady 
 Gwynne remains silent, with her anxious 
 eyes raised towards her husband's face, and 
 Mr. Lawrence, as he glances in her direc- 
 tion, thinks she looks as though a spell had 
 suddenly fallen on her. 
 
 Sir Lyster is not flattered by the genera]
 
 14 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 doubt thrown upon the personality of his 
 new-found friend. If a poet be really 
 a more desirable guest to entertain than 
 beings who cannot string two jangling 
 rhymes together, why should not Felt on 
 Hall have the honour of covering his head 
 as well as any other roof ? 
 
 Sir Lyster has a magnified idea of Felton 
 Hall, and everything belonging to it, and 
 feels nettled by the remarks of his acquaint- 
 ances, and determined to prove them in the 
 wrong. 
 
 "Why shouldn't he be the poet?" he 
 interrupts them testily. " Hang it ! he 
 might be a better thing a thousand times 
 over, and so I shall tell him without any 
 reserve. But he is William Slade's son, 
 and his father recommends him to my 
 notice, and that's quite enough for me. I 
 shall ride over to Burwood the first thing 
 to-morrow morning, and bring him back
 
 COMING EVENTS. 15 
 
 with me. Poet or no poet, young Slade 
 shall have little reason to complain of the 
 hospitality of Felton Hall, and so we will 
 prove to him. His father knew better 
 than to suppose I would permit the son of 
 my old college chum to put up at a dirty 
 country inn, and I shall write and tell him 
 so. It is most gratifying to think that 
 Bill Slade should have remembered to 
 write to me, and after so many years too — 
 very gratifying ; it pleases me highly. I 
 should hardly have thought he would have 
 remembered me." 
 
 So he runs on, in an unctuous well-satis- 
 fied manner, whilst his wife is listening to 
 the congratulations of her female friends. 
 
 " Only fancy ! having Auberon Slade 
 under the same roof with you. How 
 charming, Lady Gwynne ! You will be 
 reading j^oetry together all day long. How 
 I envy you !"
 
 16 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 She listens, but she does not smile ; if 
 anything, looks troubled at the prospect. 
 
 "You forget that Mr. Slade is ill, and 
 down here only for the purpose of recover- 
 ing his health/' 
 
 " Oh, but not too ill, surely, to repeat 
 his own charming verses, and tell you what 
 first put such ideas in his head. The 
 clever creature ! What a number of ques- 
 tions you will have to ask him ! What a 
 treat there is in store for you ! Oh, Mrs. 
 Blake, are you really going ?" 
 
 And here, the general commotion excited 
 by the propinquity of last season's favourite 
 having provoked a general rising, the op- 
 portunity for breaking up the long dull 
 evening is gladly taken advantage of, and 
 in a few moments more the farewells are 
 over, the carriages have rolled away, the 
 bachelor guests of Felton Hall have ad- 
 journed with Sir Lyster to his sanctum,
 
 COMING EVENTS. 17 
 
 and Lady Gwynne is left standing in the 
 deserted drawing-room alone. 
 
 The hour is late and she is weary ; but 
 there is a vague bewildered feeling of 
 unrest floating in her mind, which makes 
 the thought of the close sleeping-chamber 
 overhead distasteful to her ; and, throwing 
 a shawl about her shoulders, she steps 
 hastily out through the French windows 
 of the drawing-room upon the lawn, and 
 lifts her heated face to meet the evening 
 breeze. 
 
 It is a peaceful world she gazes on — too 
 peaceful to find an echo in her heart — 
 quiet, almost unnaturally so, and still, with 
 the great harvest moon shining above it : 
 the restful night lit up as the unrestful 
 day, and yet as unlike day as the hot hap - 
 piness of this earth is to the tranquil bliss 
 that heavy-laden souls look forward to in 
 heaven. The white and crimson roses that 
 
 vol. [. 2
 
 18 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 clung so confidingly to the deep porch with 
 early dawn, now, shame-faced at the day's 
 debauch, shrink backward from its embrace, 
 and hang their full-blown beauties from 
 weak and enervated stalks, whilst their 
 strong scent mingles with the still sodden 
 air, and turns it sickly. 
 
 The patient cattle, standing ancle-deep 
 in the rich pasture meadows that surround 
 the Hall, are still as death, sleeping as they 
 stand ; not a sound, but the sound of her 
 own breathing, strikes upon her ear, as Lady 
 Gwynne leans with both her arms upon the 
 iron fence that skirts the lawn, and looks 
 up at the starry heavens, whilst the tears 
 gather in her eyes, and fall quickly upon 
 her cheek. She feels lonely, and unhappy, 
 and desolate, though she could hardly tell 
 you why. 
 
 Oh, uncongeniality in marriage ! Is there 
 a greater curse to fall on man or woman ?
 
 COMIX (i EVENTS. L9 
 
 Here is a case of no hard blows or rough ill- 
 treatment, not even of hard words or petty 
 tyranny, and yet the great unfilled void, the 
 aching sense of solitude which must make 
 itself felt by every mind that yearns for 
 sympathy, is eating into the core of, at least 
 one of, the hearts thus unnaturally linked 
 together. Yet Gwendoline Gwynne looks 
 up trustfully at the harvest moon, and 
 brushes away her tears, and tries hard to 
 battle with the feeling of depression which 
 is creeping over her. 
 
 " How foolish I am !" she says impa- 
 tiently ; " what on earth have I to cry 
 about ? I ought to be ashamed of myself ! 
 My life is so peaceful and undisturbed, that 
 it spoils me for annoyance, until even weari- 
 ness brings tears." 
 
 And then, to divert her thoughts, she 
 commences to murmur favourite lines of 
 
 2—2
 
 20 THE PREY OF TEE GODS. 
 
 poetry, half-aloud and half to herself, as if 
 she were reciting a part. 
 
 " Wait, and Love himself will bring 
 The drooping flower of knowledge changed to frnit 
 Of wisdom. Wait : my faith is large in Time, 
 And that which shapes it to some perfect end. 
 
 " Wait, and Love himself will bring- 
 
 » 
 
 she commences again, running over and 
 over the sweet, solemn words, as though 
 she were bringing down all the powers of 
 her soul to bear upon, and comprehend their 
 meaning, whilst her earnest eyes dilate be- 
 neath the force of her imagination. 
 
 " I feel unusually depressed to-night," 
 she thinks again, after a little pause. 
 "What is it that lies upon my heart like 
 lead ? Daisy and Lyster are well, and 
 I am in perfect health, and nothing has 
 gone wrong. Why should I be so sorrow- 
 ful ? My life is as unclouded and tranquil 
 as that moon. Am I different from other
 
 COMING EVENTS. 21 
 
 people that my spirit will not keep pace 
 with my existence ?" 
 
 She glances upward as she speaks, with 
 the tears still glistening on her cheeks, but 
 as she gazes, a dark cloud moves slowly 
 across the moon's disc, and for a moment 
 hides it from her view. 
 
 Lady Gwynne looks fixedly, almost fear- 
 fully at it for the same space of time, and 
 then, drawing her shawl more closely about 
 her shoulders, she turns swiftly to the 
 house, and will not glance that way again.
 
 22 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 LADY GWYNNE's PRESENTIMENT. 
 
 QJHE re-enters by the same means by 
 which she left, and the first object 
 that catches her eye on stepping over the 
 threshold of the empty drawing-room, is 
 the letter with the splashy red seal, which 
 Sir Lyster had thrust upon the mantle- 
 piece when he quitted the apartment. 
 
 Lady Gwynne seems fascinated by that 
 seal : it draws her to it, as the magnet 
 draws the loadstone, and she takes the 
 envelope in her hands, almost against her 
 own will, and turns it over and over, and ex-
 
 LADY GWYNNE'S PRESENTIMENT. 23 
 
 amines the superscription and the impress, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 A blood-red hand casting a thunderbolt, 
 with the motto " I shall succeed,'' cut 
 rather ostentatiously beneath it ; a brave 
 motto for an aspirant after literary fame : 
 so thinks Lady Gwynne, as, with a sigh, 
 she lays the letter in its place again. 
 
 " How strange," she muses, " that, after 
 all the pleasure I have taken in his poetry, 
 — why, I nearly wore out that volume of 
 ' Memories ' last autumn ! — I seem to have 
 no desire to meet this man ; on the con- 
 trary, I would avoid it. Can it be because 
 he is ill, and likely to give us trouble ? 
 How selfish and inhospitable I must have 
 grown. Or is it the fear of not being able 
 to entertain worthily a mind so much 
 above me ¥' 
 
 But at this thought she smiles, though 
 sadly.
 
 24 THE PREY OF TEE GODS. 
 
 " Hardly that, when we have had such 
 men as Professor Hummel and Doctor Bar- 
 clay staying here, and no ridiculous ideas 
 ever entered my head with regard to them. 
 Oh, it must be a mere fancy, founded on 
 my absurd love of poetry, which makes me 
 feel afraid of meeting Auberon Slade ; or, 
 perhaps it is nothing at all but the effects 
 of a thunderstorm brewing in the air. What 
 impressionable fools we women are !" 
 
 But fanciful or not, she does not appear 
 capable of easily dismissing the notion 
 from her mind, for when Sir Lysfcer 
 G wynne, much impregnated wich the 
 fumes of tobacco, and brandy and soda, 
 comes noisily up the stairs, an hour or so 
 afterwards, banging every door with which 
 he has to do, and uttering " Good-nights," 
 to his companions upon the very threshold 
 of his wife's apartment, he finds her still 
 sitting in the arm-chair by the half-closed
 
 LAD Y G WYNNE'S PRESENTIMENT. 25 
 
 window, and apparently lost in a deep 
 reverie. 
 
 " Holloa I" lie exclaims, roughly ; " why 
 are you sitting here ? Don't you intend 
 to go to bed to-night V 
 
 " Oh, yes ! by-and-bye ; but the evening 
 air is so cool and pleasant. Lyster, is 
 there any necessity that we should ask Mr. 
 Slade to stay at Felt on Hall ¥' 
 
 The question comes so unexpectedly, so 
 perfectly irrelevantly to the subject in 
 hand, that the baronet, who is not parti- 
 cularly quick at grasping an inference, 
 stares at her for a moment in complete 
 bewilderment. 
 
 " What are you talking about ? Any 
 necessity for behaving with hospitality to- 
 wards Bill Slade's son ? Why, of course 
 there is ! all the necessity in the world : 
 in fact, one couldn't possibly do anything 
 else. I shall ride over to Burwood the
 
 26 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 first thing to-morrow, and bring him back 
 with me, and tell him this is his home 
 as long as he chooses to make it so. I am 
 quite anxious to see the young fellow. I 
 wonder if he is like his father !" 
 
 " But don't you think it will be rather 
 imprudent to ask him here for an indefinite 
 period before we know how long he may be 
 getting well again ? Nor even what he is 
 
 iii of r 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! I suppose you have 
 fearful visions of small-pox and scarlet 
 fever ; and of seeing Daisy's smooth face 
 scarred and pitted for life. No — no ! my 
 dear ; depend upon it I will take care of 
 that. I have not been master of myself 
 and of my household for so many years 
 without having learned how to look after 
 both my own interest and yours." 
 
 Sir Lyster delivers this truth with con- 
 siderable satisfaction to himself; it is a
 
 LAD 7 G WYNNE'S PRESENTIMENT. 27 
 
 fact which he is so fond of impressing on 
 all whom it may concern, that some of 
 the household have been found sufficiently 
 sacrilegious to doubt its being a fact at 
 all. 
 
 But take heed, Sir Lyster, there are 
 diseases in this world more baneful even 
 than the small-pox and the scarlet fever ! 
 Lady Grwynne does not look satisfied, she 
 leans her head upon her hand, and lets her 
 eyes rove into vacancy ; and her husband 
 is not so dull that he cannot perceive the 
 drift of her imagination. 
 
 " Why, I thought you were all for 
 poetry and such-like fiddle-faddle !" he ex- 
 claims, almost angrily, "and would jump 
 out of your skin to have the maker of 
 such trash to entertain. What's up now ? 
 What more objections have you to make 
 upon the subject V 
 
 But she does not heed his rough Bar-
 
 28 THE PREY OF THE GOES. 
 
 casm, or if she heeds, she does not notice 
 it. 
 
 She only rises quickly from her chair, 
 and places one hand on her husband's arm, 
 and fixes on his face her earnest eyes. 
 
 " Oh ! Lyster, be advised by me, and do 
 not ask that man to Felton Hall until you 
 know something more about him/' 
 
 " But why ? What reason have you for 
 saying so V 
 
 At that she looks bewildered, and half 
 foolish. 
 
 " I cannot tell vou — I do not know. It 
 may be only a fancy on my part. But, 
 remember, you have never seen him, and 
 the house is so full at present ; and I have 
 an idea, somehow, that — that — we shall 
 not get on together." 
 
 " What absurd folly ! when you have 
 not even met the man !" 
 
 "I know that — but he is ill, and will
 
 LAJJY GWTNNE'JS PRESENTIMENT. 29 
 
 require rest and quiet ; and our house is 
 always noisy and boisterous." 
 
 " Hang it all 1" is the impatient reply ; 
 " I suppose we can give the fellow quiet 
 if he wishes it. Let him have the green 
 room, with the morning room next to it, 
 and sit there as many hours as he likes. 
 But I hope I shall find him of different 
 metal from that. He may write as much 
 rotten poetry as he chooses, but if he has 
 a drop of his father's blood in his veins, he 
 will know a partridge from a pheasant 
 when he sees it, and handle a gun better 
 than he does a pen. So now, let's get to 
 bed, and hear no more of this nonsense. 
 Auberon Slade is my guest, not yours ; 
 and all you have to do is to see he has 
 enough to eat, and is not laid between 
 damp sheets." 
 
 " Oh, I will promise so far," she answers, 
 with a faint smile, as she retires from the
 
 30 THE PREY OF THE GODH. 
 
 wordy contest, and offers no further re- 
 monstrance to her husband's wishes. 
 
 But the next morning — a glorious morn- 
 ing, lighted with one unbroken stream of 
 sunshine, and canopied with perfect blue 
 — when Sir Lyster, bluff and hearty, but 
 considering no one's wishes but his own, 
 has ridden away from the very breakfast- 
 table to make acquaintanceship with the 
 recluse of Burwood, Major Calvert finds 
 Lady Grwynne standing in one of the re- 
 cesses of the old-fashioned dining-room 
 windows, looking thoughtfully — almost 
 solemnly — at the brilliant display that 
 nature has spread out before her. 
 
 "Sir Lyster will have a hot ride," he 
 remarks casually, as he joins her ; "but he 
 is determined to be back by luncheon- 
 
 time. 
 
 " Will he be back by luncheon ?" with a 
 
 look of enquiry.
 
 LAD Y G WYNNE'S PRESENTIMENT. 31 
 
 " So he says ; and with the phenomenon 
 in tow. Are you very curious to see him, 
 Lady Gwynne ? Miss Musgrave has been 
 unable to eat any breakfast this morning in 
 consequence of her anticipation." 
 
 cf Oh ! now, Major Calvert, that is too 
 bad of you !" exclaims Emily Musgrave, 
 a county belle, still in her teens ; " when 
 you know that all I said was, that I won- 
 dered if he wore long hair and turned- 
 down collars. It is a great shame to re- 
 peat it, and 111 never tell you anything 
 again." 
 
 " Did I repeat it ?" demands the Major in 
 a voice of injury. " I only said that 
 anxiety had robbed you of your appetite." 
 
 "Which you know is not the truth," 
 pouts the offended beauty. "As if I cared 
 what Mr. Slade is like. And I daresay, 
 after all, that he will turn out a most 
 commonplace individual, who will smoke
 
 32 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 and drink brandy- and- water, and care for 
 nobody but himself, like all the rest of 
 you." 
 
 " He might even be worse," retorts her 
 opponent, " he might prove to be a married 
 man ! For you know," he adds, after 
 having enjoyed the quick look of conster- 
 nation excited by his supposition, " we 
 have never heard anything to the contrary ! 
 What do you say, Lady Gwynne ? Is this 
 Slade to turn out a vara avis, or a very 
 ordinary barndoor fowl ?" 
 
 " I do not know. I cannot possibly 
 say," she answers, hurriedly. " I have not 
 had time to think about it yet. Oh ! how 
 intensely hot the day is going to be." 
 
 " Too hot for riding, or walking, or any- 
 thing," acquiesces Miss Musgrave, as she 
 takes up a station by the side of her 
 hostess. 
 
 " Will it be too hot to drive to Chorley
 
 LAD Y G WYNNES PR&&EN TIMES T. 33 
 
 Farm with me and Daisy, do you think, 
 Emily ? Old Nurse Richards is sick, and 
 I have promised for some time to go over, 
 and sit an hour with her. You will find 
 the shady old garden there cool enough, 
 and the fruit the finest in the county." 
 
 " Oh, charming I" exclaims the younger 
 lady, " there is nothing in this world I like 
 so much as visiting poor people, and seeing 
 all their funny little ways. But we shall 
 be back by luncheon time, I suppose, Lady 
 Qwynne V 
 
 A smile curJs up the corners of Lady 
 Gwynne's expressive mouth ; the first smile 
 that has circled there that morning. 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! that is if we start at 
 once. I have already ordered the pony 
 carriage, and Daisy is being dressed at the 
 present moment. You will not have to 
 wait for us, Emily." 
 
 i 
 
 " Then I will go and get ready," replies 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 TEE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 Emily, as she rushes from the breakfast 
 room, which has long since been deserted 
 excepting by these three. 
 
 Major Calvert is left alone with Lady 
 Gwynne ; he notes her heavy eyes, and look 
 of general depression, and he is a friend of 
 sufficiently long standing to be entitled to 
 remark on them. 
 
 " You are not well, Lady Gwynne, or 
 you are troubled. I cannot remember when 
 I have seen you look so little bright 
 before." 
 
 She smiles and sighs at the same time. 
 
 " Am I given then to constant giggling T 
 
 " Like some one who shall be nameless ! 
 Scarcely ! and you knew it before you put 
 the question. But you cannot deceive me 
 by trying to avoid enquiry. If you are 
 well, there must be some cause for the 
 deep thought in which you have been 
 wrapped this morning."
 
 LADY G WYNNE'S PRESENTIMENT. 35 
 
 " I have no wish to deceive you, Major 
 Calvert — on the contrary, it will be a relief 
 to speak to you about it. There is a cause 
 for my depression, but one for which I am 
 totally unable to account — a horrible fore- 
 boding of evil — I cannot tell why or 
 wherefore — has been hanging over me like 
 a black cloud ever since last evening !" 
 
 " Of evil ! to yourself or others V 
 
 " Oh, don't ask me ! I know nothing 
 about it !" she exclaims, half wildly. " I 
 only feel that it is there ; and that I cannot 
 shake it off. I am sure that something is 
 going to happen ; my heart is like lead 
 within my bosom." And with that the 
 tears well up into the sweet grey eyes 
 and stand quivering on the long dark 
 lashes, ready to fall with her next breath. 
 
 Major Calvert is interested ; he is not 
 one of those men who are hoodwinked by 
 the affable demeanour of his host ; he has 
 
 3—2
 
 3G THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 long guessed that all is not constant sun- 
 shine within Felton Hall ; and this little 
 appeal to his sympathy on the part of 
 Lady Gwynne flatters his vanity. Yet 
 what can he say, excepting that he trusts 
 her surmise may not prove true. 
 
 " Perhaps it is the weather that affects 
 your spirits," he suggests soothingly. " Such 
 heat as this is enough to try anyone." 
 
 But of this suggestion she takes no 
 notice. 
 
 " You remember what we were saying 
 last evening about presentiments," she goes 
 on presently, " and I promised I would tell 
 you next time I had one. Major Calvert," 
 with a serious emphasis, that for the mo- 
 ment greatly impresses her hearer, " I have 
 a strong presentiment this morning that 
 some great misfortune is in store for me. — 
 Now, don't say afterwards, when it has 
 come to pass, that I never told you of it !"
 
 LADY G WYNNES PRESENTIMENT, 
 
 •>t 
 
 " But — good heavens ! Lady Gwynue, 
 in what way do you anticipate this evil — 
 by death — or how ?" 
 
 At this she stands silent for a moment, 
 as though considering. 
 
 " Yes ! — I think by death ; or by some- 
 thing very like it. Don't think me a 
 coward, Major Calvert, but I feel afraid 
 to-day — afraid of shadows — and that is not 
 my nature, as you know." 
 
 " But, under the circumstances, you must 
 not, you really should not, drive to Chorley 
 alone. Let me go with you, Lady Gwynne, 
 or take a servant." 
 
 At the proposal her lip curls. 
 
 " Oh, you mistake me, Major Calvert. 
 It is not of things I am afraid — I would 
 ride the new filly to Chorley Farm, or put 
 my own horse at the highest leap I have 
 ever attempted yet, if you were to dare 
 
 me."
 
 38 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " What, then, do you fear V 
 The vague look comes back again. 
 " That is what I cannot tell you. Myself 
 or nothing, it is all the same ; there is a 
 dead weight here," — laying her hand upon 
 her breast, — " which I cannot get rid of : 
 the black shadow of the evil which is 
 coming upon me. Do not let us talk of it 
 any more, Major Calvert. Talking can do 
 no good ; let me get out into the fresh air, 
 and forget it, if I can."
 
 PUTTING OFF THE EVIL MOMENT. 39 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PUTTING OFF THE EVIL MOMENT. 
 
 rMHE little inn at Burwood, with its 
 low ceilings, whitewashed walls, and 
 general air of rustic simplicity, is much 
 more in accordance with the feelings of 
 Auberon Slade, at the present moment, 
 than his father's country house in Blank- 
 shire, or even his own chambers in town, 
 which are fitted up with every luxury that 
 modern art can devise, or taste require. 
 He has been ordered a complete change, 
 and a completer change could scarcely have 
 been found for him. 
 
 The deepest tranquillity, the most perfect
 
 40 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 repose, reign along the shady paths and 
 rippling streams of Burwood, and our hero 
 revels in them day after day, and tries 
 altogether to banish the unwelcome thought 
 that he must, at some future time, return 
 to work and to the world again. For the 
 world has not used him very kindly of 
 late. 
 
 A brilliant literary debut, followed by 
 the usual amount of flattery and adulation, 
 which, in fashionable language, means being 
 much sought after, as a thing to be stared 
 at, and commented upon, at reunions and 
 conversaziones, had, during the past season, 
 lifted Auberon Slade into a position, higher 
 than that to which, bv birth and merit, he 
 was entitled, and slightly turned his head 
 with respect to his own pretensions. 
 
 And this mistake had been followed bv 
 a crushing of his pride, a levelling of his 
 ambition, which, to a man of his sensitive
 
 PUTTING OFF THE EVIL MOMENT. 41 
 
 nature, was very hard to bear. But, 
 determined to bear it, or to kill it, he had 
 returned toVork with an energy worthy of 
 its cause, but too fierce for a nature so 
 finely organized that it suffered trebly in 
 proportion to that of other men. So that 
 mental labour was soon followed by physi- 
 cal debility, and Auberon Slade was ordered 
 by his medical attendants to leave literature 
 to itself for the present, and take up trout- 
 fishing, or any other pursuit that laid no 
 tax upon the brain, instead. Which ac- 
 counts for his being found beside the 
 quiet streams of Burwood. 
 
 On first arrival, he had been disposed to 
 grumble at everything around him ; but 
 by the time we meet him, when he has 
 been located there for a whole fortnight, he 
 is enchanted with the little village, and the 
 unbroken rest by which it is pervaded. 
 
 He loves to wander, hour after hour,
 
 42 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 beside the stream, filling his creel with 
 speckled trout almost mechanically, as his 
 thoughts wander forth into the 1 rich fields 
 of fancy, and resolve themselves into flowing 
 metre and soft dulcet rhyme. 
 
 And then to return to the unpretentious 
 inn to dinner, where, if it cannot tempt, 
 there is nothing to offend, his taste, and, 
 during the long warm August evenings, to 
 stretch himself upon the grass with his 
 cigar, and dream, not unkindly, of what 
 " might have been," and feel the soothing 
 influence of the hour calm his spirits, until 
 he rises up again, almost contented, and 
 quite willing that events should be deter- 
 mined for us, and we, not left to follow 
 the bent of our own inclinations. 
 
 He is recovering so rapidly from his dis- 
 appointment, under the combined effects of 
 time and absence, that he grudges a 
 thought to anything that bears upon the
 
 PUTTING OFF THE EVIL MOMENT. 43 
 
 past, and dreads the slightest interruption 
 to the monotony of his existence. 
 
 He hates the postman, who finds his 
 way even to Burwood, and brings him 
 letters that disturb his rest, — importunate 
 letters from his publishers, and trifling 
 letters from his female friends, and, occa- 
 sionally, one of those official looking en- 
 velopes, with the splashy red seal, that 
 had so impressed Lady Gwynne, and the 
 contents of which usually opens his old 
 sore, by some rough allusion to the past, or 
 suggestion with respect to the future. 
 
 How heartily he desires that they could 
 forget him, even as he wishes to forget 
 them. 
 
 And so fearful is he of having his 
 solitude broken in upon, that the arrival 
 of a stray traveller, for bait and refresh- 
 ment, at the Burwood inn, is sufficient to 
 send Auberon Slade out with his rod until
 
 44 THE PREY OF THE GODS- 
 
 the shades of evening have fallen, and all 
 chance of encountering the obnoxious in- 
 truder gone. 
 
 Judge, then, of his disgust, when, on 
 the morning in question, having lingered 
 over his breakfast until a later hour than 
 usual, the keeper of the little hostelry 
 throws open the door of his sitting-room, 
 and, with considerable pride, announces 
 (; Sir Lyster Gwynne." 
 
 Auberon Slade, starting to his feet, is 
 about to exclaim that there must be some 
 mistake, but the manner of the new comer 
 at once undeceives him. 
 
 " My dear Slade ! I am delighted to 
 make your acquaintance. I had no idea 
 you were here, until I received a letter from 
 your father last evening. Hadn't heard 
 from him for years ! A most remarkable 
 coincidence ! I've come to carry you back 
 with me to Felton Hall. You must take
 
 PUTTING OFF THE EVIL MOMENT. 45 
 
 my man s horse, and he will return in the 
 cart, which will be over for your luggage 
 in the course of an hour." 
 
 Nothing can be a greater contrast than 
 these two men present to each other ; — the 
 one, bluff, hearty, and robust in the ex- 
 treme ; with round open eyes that know 
 no variation of light and shade, and a con- 
 fident manner that carries everything before 
 it. The other, pale, quiet, and dignified ; 
 with an appearance of great reserve — but 
 the power of feeling too plainly stamped 
 on every feature to augur well for his 
 happiness in this world. 
 
 Sir Lyster has thrust his hand into that 
 of Auberon Slade, who is forced to take it 
 whether he will or no ; but the vague 
 glance that he* directs towards his new 
 acquaintance shows how incapable^he is of 
 comprehending the honour done him. 
 
 " Ah ! you don't know me, I see ! — I
 
 46 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 suppose your father has not yet written to 
 you on the subject. Didn't think I should be 
 so ready to pick you up — eh ! But I never 
 forget an old friend. I am Sir Lyster 
 Gwynne, of Felton Hall, in this county ; 
 and your father was one of my old Cam- 
 bridge chums long before you were 
 thought of." 
 
 " Oh ! I comprehend !" said Auberon 
 Slade, as he rescues his hand from the 
 Baronet's grasp. " I am sure it is very good 
 of you, Sir Lyster, to take the trouble to 
 come over and see me. I was not aware 
 my father had the honour of your acquaint- 
 ance. Won't you take a chair ?" 
 
 "No time to sit down, my dear boy — 
 I have a whole covey of guests waiting 
 for me at home ; and I '-promised to be 
 back by luncheon. How soon will you be 
 ready to start ?" 
 
 " To start ¥' Auberon Slade has not
 
 PUTTING OFF THE EVIL MOMENT. 47 
 
 realised the opening part of Sir Lyster's 
 address to him. 
 
 " Yes ! to come back to Felton Hall 
 with me ! You don't suppose I am going 
 to let old Bill Slade's son put up in a dirty 
 little hole like this, whilst there is a spare 
 bed in Felton Hall to receive him. No such 
 thing, my dear fellow ; you sleep under my 
 roof to-night, or nowhere at all." 
 
 "You are very good. I hardly know 
 what to say to your proposal." 
 
 He means that he hardly knows what to 
 say against it. He is horrified at this 
 sacrilegious intrusion upon his peace — 
 detests the very idea of going to stay at 
 Felton Hall — has taken a violent dislike 
 even to the cordiality of the familiar invi- 
 tation — and the presumptuous assurance of 
 his ready acceptance of it — and yet he does 
 not know what excuse to bring forward for 
 the refusal that is trembling on his tongue.
 
 48 THE PREY OF THE GOES. 
 
 Sir Lyster evidently imagines that it is 
 gratitude that keeps him silent. 
 
 " Come, come, my dear fellow! no 
 
 thanks ! When you come to know me 
 
 better, you will find that it is my greatest 
 
 satisfaction to do little kindnesses of this 
 
 sort ; and I have never forgotten anybody 
 
 who has been associated with my school 
 
 days. It is quite sufficient for me that you 
 
 are your father's son, to render seeing you 
 
 under my roof a pleasure — quite a plea- 
 ts 
 sure ! 
 
 And Sir Lyster pats Auberon Slade upon 
 the shoulder in a patronising manner as 
 though he were a schoolboy. 
 
 The young man flushes and is silent. If 
 he has a predominating fault, it is self- 
 esteem : and he is wounded instead of grati- 
 fied by the behaviour of the Baronet. 
 
 Where can this bumpkin have vegetated 
 who has never heard that some of the highest
 
 PUTTING OFF THE EVIL MOMENT. 49 
 
 names in the kingdom have considered it 
 more than a pleasure to receive Auberon 
 Slade under their roofs : and solicited his 
 appearance there as a favour done to them- 
 selves. When he next speaks, it is with a 
 coldness that would have made itself appa- 
 rent to anyone less dense than Sir Lyster 
 Gwynne. 
 
 " Thanks ! I am much obliged to you, 
 I am sure, for your good intentions on my 
 behalf; but I regret that I am totally 
 unable to avail myself of them." 
 
 " But why ?" 
 
 " I have been ordered here for my health, 
 and am compelled to remain in the strictest 
 seclusion." 
 
 " You shall be as quiet in our house as 
 you like. I have desired Lady Gwynne to 
 appoint you a couple of rooms ; where you 
 can remain all day if it so pleases you." 
 
 " But I am forbidden to keep late hours." 
 
 vol. i. 4 
 
 .
 
 50 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " At Felton Hall, my dear Slade, every- 
 one gets up and goes to bed, at the hour 
 he likes best ; so that excuse is no excuse 
 at all." 
 
 " But — of course, I am most flattered by 
 the pressing nature of your invitation, Sir 
 Lyster — but I have work to finish during 
 the next few weeks, which it is absolutely 
 necessary I should do ; but which would be 
 quite impracticable, I fear, amidst such a 
 party as you doubtless have assembled at 
 Felton Hall." 
 
 i: My dear fellow ! you will be your own 
 master in every respect, and can use your 
 time as you think fit. Your father has 
 made me perfectly aware that rest and 
 quiet are necessary for your restoration to 
 health ; and Lady Gwynne is quite pre- 
 pared to receive in you, a guest who is to be 
 allowed to do exactly as he likes." 
 
 Auberon Slade hesitates ; the offer is
 
 PUTTING OFF THE EVIL MOMENT. 51 
 
 certainly tempting, added to which he does 
 not know what further objection to bring 
 forward in opposition to it. 
 
 " Lady Gwynne is exceedingly good ; 
 indeed, I hardly know how to thank her 
 or yourself, Sir Lyster, for your cordiality 
 to a perfect stranger. Still — I " 
 
 " My dear Slade ! the thing is settled ; 
 your rooms are waiting for you in Felton 
 Hall, and there can be no possible reason 
 for your remaining here. How long will 
 it take you to put up your traps V 
 
 " Oh ! not five minutes, if that is all " — 
 and Auberon Slade moves thoughtfully 
 towards the door — he feels that he shall 
 go to Felton Hall against his will, and 
 yet some internal influence urges him to 
 hold to his first resolution, which causes 
 him to halt upon the threshold, and make 
 one last attempt at resistance. 
 
 " Sir Lyster, there really is an obstacle 
 
 4 — 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF lUlwow
 
 52 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 that is not to be overcome. I had forgotten 
 it until this moment. I have no evening 
 clothes with me." 
 
 At this, the Baronet bursts into a loud 
 roar of laughter. 
 
 " Telegraph for them, Slade ; meanwhile, 
 I will lend you a suit of mine." 
 
 It is the stranger's turn to smile now, as 
 he glances from his own slight limbs to Sir 
 Lyster's portly figure. 
 
 " Well ! if that won't do, we will excuse 
 the morning clothes. Lady Gwynne would 
 excuse anything in a poet. Hang it all, 
 man, come over and try us for a week ; and 
 if you don't like your quarters by that time, 
 we'll give you leave to return to Burwood. 
 But come with me to-day, you must ; for 
 I've pledged my word to it." 
 
 There is nothing further to be said then ; 
 and in a few minutes more, my hero is 
 wrestling with the straps and buckles of
 
 PUTTING OFF THE EVIL MOMENT. n:3 
 
 his portmanteau. But in anything but a 
 good humour with himself. 
 
 " It strikes me forcibly that I've done a 
 very foolish thing," he thinks, as, having 
 accomplished his purpose, he passes the 
 brushes through his hair. "What are 
 these Gwynnes to me, that I should give 
 up my enjoyment to swell the list of their 
 guests ? But I don't see how the deuce I 
 could have got out of it either ! It's just 
 like my father's bungling interference 
 to tell them I was here. Well, it's too 
 late to alter now, but I shall seize the 
 first opportunity I can to make an ex- 
 cuse to return to town. They've spoilt my 
 holiday with a vengeance !" 
 
 In which agreeable mood Sir Lyster 
 bears him back in triumph to the Felton 
 luncheon table. 
 
 Five minutes after their horses have 
 been led round to the stables, a pony
 
 54 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 chaise comes creeping up the carriage- 
 drive, and turns into the stable-yard, in- 
 stead of drawing up before the house 
 as usual. 
 
 " Why this novelty V exclaims one of its 
 occupants, curiously. 
 
 " Its about the men's dinner-hour," is 
 Lady G Wynne's evasive answer ; and then, 
 as her eye catches sight of the horses which 
 are just being unsaddled, she asks the 
 helper who has come to hold the pony's 
 head, quickly, almost eagerly, if Sir Lyster 
 has returned from Burwood. 
 
 " Yes, my lady." 
 
 " With — with anybody else ¥' 
 
 "With another gentleman, my lady. 
 The gentleman rode James's horse. James 
 is to return with the spring cart. The 
 spring cart has started for the gentleman's 
 luggage, my lady I" 
 
 " Oh, come ! that's all right," exclaims
 
 PUTTING OFF THE EVIL MOMENT. 55 
 
 Miss Musgrave delightedly, as she reaches 
 the ground, and helps Daisy after her. 
 
 But Lady Gwynne does not seem 
 delighted. 
 
 " I have such a dreadful headache," she 
 says dejectedly, as they walk towards the 
 house together. " I don't feel at all fit to 
 appear at the luncheon-table to-day." 
 
 " Oh ! but I am sure the sight of Mr. 
 Slade will cure you, Lady Gwynne ! Only 
 fancy his being really here ! I can hardly 
 believe it. I hope there will be time to 
 run upstairs and make one's self decent be- 
 fore luncheon." 
 
 But as they reach the upper corridor, her 
 companion halts and almost staggers. 
 
 "Emily, I am really in great pain. I 
 don't think that I can go down. You must 
 tell Sir Lyster, and make my excuses to 
 Mr. Slade. The heat of the day has been
 
 56 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 too much for me. If I can sleep for an 
 hour or so, I shall be all right again.' ' 
 
 But as she turns into her bedroom, her 
 heart is beating faster than her head, and 
 the feeling that is knocking there is very 
 much like fear. 
 
 She feels safer, she could not say where- 
 fore, within the precincts of her own cham- 
 ber ; and relieved, she does not know why, 
 that she has put off the meeting with her 
 new guest for a few hours longer.
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS. 57 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS. 
 
 EFT to herself, and overpowered by 
 the 'sultry weather and the pain in 
 her head, Lady Gwynne falls into a restless 
 slumber, from which she is but too soon 
 aroused by the heavy knuckles of Sir Lyster 
 upon the bedroom door. 
 
 " Well, what's the matter with you V he 
 exclaims, as he takes a seat by her bedside. 
 " Why the deuce weren't you down at 
 luncheon ? Sick or sulky — eh V 
 
 " Sick," she answers languidly, as she 
 presses one feverish hand against her burn-
 
 58 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 ing temples. " I have such a dreadful head- 
 ache, I can hardly hold my head up at all." 
 
 " Then why are you such a fool as to go 
 out in the sun ? You know you can't 
 stand it, and you might have a little more 
 consideration when I am expecting you to 
 do the honours of the Hall to a new 
 guest." 
 
 " I am sorry, Lyster. I will try to make 
 up for it, by rendering myself doubly agree- 
 able, if I can, at dinner.' 7 * 
 
 Her ready submission touches some fibre 
 in his coarse nature, and he stoops and 
 kisses her. She shrinks from, almost 
 shudders at the rough embrace ; but she 
 endures it quietly, and it is all that he de- 
 mands of her. 
 
 His is no sensitive spirit to discern in a 
 moment where it is welcomed or repulsed ; 
 and she has no other light but his, by which 
 to interpret her own feelings. Her private
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS. 59 
 
 opinion, when she forms one, is, that she 
 was born cold-blooded and dislikes all 
 familiarities. She never dreams that there 
 may be sweeter kisses in the world for her 
 than these — kisses which shall seem to lift 
 her from this earth to heaven ! 
 
 " Well ! I bagged my bird, as perhaps 
 they've told you," resumes Sir Lyster, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " Yes ! I heard that he had come." 
 
 "And will stay into the bargain, if I 
 have any voice in the matter. A fine young 
 fellow as ever stepped. I can't think w T hat 
 Bill Slade can have been dreaming of to 
 put him into the book trade. However, 
 he says it was his own choice. Queer, very 
 queer! He ought to have been a farmer 
 or a country gentleman like myself." 
 
 " Yes," incredulously. 
 
 " Ah ! I know what you're expecting to 
 see ! A melancholy- looking chap, with
 
 60 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 lanky hair, and bones coming through his 
 skin, -wasted with misery — eh V 
 
 " Indeed ! I expect no such thing," she 
 interrupts indignantly. 
 
 "But you're vastly mistaken, I can tell 
 you. A capital fellow, who can talk on 
 any subject, is devoted to sport, and knows 
 good wine, when he sees it." 
 
 " I never doubted his capability in that 
 respect," she murmurs. 
 
 " With a neat, light figure, that I'd take 
 my oath never rides an ounce over eleven 
 stone. A first rate horseman, and looking 
 forward to the shooting season as eagerly 
 as either Calvert or myself." 
 
 "It is lucky he has such tastes, for we 
 shall be able to amuse him here." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I hope so ; but he says he has 
 some confounded scribbling to finish that 
 will keep him in during the mornings. 
 However, he has promised to ride over the
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS. 61 
 
 estate with me this afternoon, so I must 
 go and join him. You will be down to 
 dinner ?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly. I hope you made my 
 excuses to Mr. Slade." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! I told him you were 
 dying to see a real live poet, and I sup- 
 posed it was excitement at the prospect 
 that had made you take to your bed so 
 early in the day. Ha, ha, ha ! we had a 
 good laugh over it, I can tell you, and 
 Slade seemed as much amused as any- 
 body." 
 
 But little pointed as the sarcasm is, it 
 has the effect of making Lady G Wynne's 
 cheeks burn like fire. 
 
 " You didn't really, Lyster !" starting up 
 in her bed. " Oh, how foolish, how unkind 
 of you ! You make me feel quite ashamed 
 to meet the man. And you know that it 
 is not the truth."
 
 62 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " Oh ! come !" blusters Sir Lyster (Sir 
 Lyster always does bluster when he feels 
 himself to be in the wrong), " it's no use 
 making a fuss about it ! What does it 
 signify after all ? The man is not likely to 
 care two straws whether you are excited 
 about meeting him or not. And if he does 
 you are clever enough to undeceive him." 
 
 But no comment on his remark issues 
 from his wife's closed lips. 
 
 M Well ! if you choose to be sulky I can't 
 help it. I have no more time to waste 
 here ! Good-bye." And, whistling loudly, 
 Sir Lyster slams the bedroom door after 
 him and stumps down into the hall. 
 
 She listens to his retreating footsteps 
 and then turns on her bed, and tries to 
 sleep again : but the power to sleep is gone. 
 
 "It is so annoying," she thinks, as the 
 subject which has disturbed her, revolves in 
 her mind, "to be misrepresented to a
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS. 63 
 
 perfect stranger, and made to appear in 
 such a foolish light. What can he think of 
 me ? Oh ! how I wish I had made an 
 effort to go down to luncheon ! Any thing- 
 would have been better than this. The 
 man will suppose I am a perfect idiot." 
 
 Lady Gwynne is not aware that if 
 Auberon Slade wishes to keep up his cha- 
 racter for originality he must find another 
 epithet for her, having already applied the 
 one in question to her husband. 
 
 " How can I tell what influence such a 
 speech may have upon him ?" she muses. 
 " He may be some frivolous, self-conceited 
 creature (people are often so different from 
 what they say or sing) who will augur all 
 kinds of nonsense from my supposed anxiety 
 to meet him. And when I would have 
 avoided it than otherwise. It is too pro- 
 voking !" and with a sigh she throws her 
 flushed face again upon the pillows.
 
 64 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 It is a relief to have the reverie that 
 follows, broken in upon, by the entrance 
 of Miss Musgrave, brimful of intelligence 
 about the new arrival. 
 
 "My dear Lady Gwynne, may I come 
 in ? How is your poor head ? Everyone was 
 so concerned about you at luncheon I And 
 I wanted you there so much. I am dying 
 to hear your opinion about Mr. Slade." 
 
 " What is your opinion, Emily V 
 
 " My dear !" — with uplifted hands — " I'm 
 horribly disappointed ! It's a dreadful con- 
 fession to have to make, but I can't help it, it's 
 the truth ! He's not a bit like a poet ! He's 
 the most ordinary looking creature possible." 
 
 Lady Grwynne cannot help smiling. 
 
 " I am sorry he has turned out such a 
 failure, Emily !" 
 
 " Oh ! he would not be so bad if he were 
 anyone but Auberon Slade. But he hasn't 
 the appearance of a spark of romance about
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS. 65 
 
 him. And to see him eat at luncheon — it 
 was enough to disenchant anybody. Talk 
 of his ' dead hopes ; indeed (do you re- 
 member those lines, Lady Gwynne ?) I am 
 quite sure his appetite didn't die with 
 them/' 
 
 " Sir Lyster seems to anticipate a great 
 deal of enjoymeDt from his society/' 7 
 
 " Oh ! I dare say he will do well enough 
 for Sir Lyster/' replies the younger lady, 
 unobservant of the slur her words cast on 
 the requirements of her host ; " but I shall 
 never believe he is the author of ' Memories/ 
 Oh, those lovely verses ! How they used 
 to haunt me ! Do you remember them, 
 Lady Gwynne ¥' 
 
 Lady Gwynne knows them by heart 
 with many of their fellows, and is never 
 tired of repeating them to herself; but she 
 does not say so. Her only answer to Miss 
 Musgrave's question is a simple acquiescence. 
 
 vol. i. 5
 
 66 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 "Well! Mr. Slade doesn't look a bit 
 like that, you know ! I don't believe he 
 ever bad a thought, or a memory — 
 dead or alive ! — he drinks much too much 
 beer. I saw his tankard filled three 
 times." 
 
 " Oh, Emily, remember what a thirsty 
 day it is, and be merciful ! But what is he 
 like, then ?" 
 
 " Tall and slight, with a yellowish com- 
 plexion, and no particular expression in his 
 face. If he has any especial virtue, I should 
 say it was inquisitiveness about other 
 people's affairs : he looks so curiously out 
 of the corners of his eyes. But his chief 
 amusement seemed eating. After which 
 he picked his teeth, according to the 
 fashion of the day, and took no more notice 
 of anybody." 
 
 " He is not too formidable a lion 
 then for me to encounter without anpre-
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS. 67 
 
 hension," says Lady Gwynne, with an 
 attempt at rousing herself. 
 
 " I should think not ; the most common- 
 place individual possible ! And not a bit 
 handsome ! My only desire now is, to find 
 out who writes his books for him. I am 
 quite sure he can't have done them himself. 
 He looks a great deal too stupid." 
 
 " Perhaps he may improve upon acquain- 
 tance, Emily." 
 
 " There is room for it, Lady Gwynne ; I 
 hope he may." 
 
 This little conversation, instead of in- 
 creasing, seems to lessen the indisposition 
 of Lady Gwynne. Left to herself again, 
 she rises from her bed, almost cheerfully, 
 and rings for her maid to come and brush 
 out her long fair hair. This is an operation 
 of which my heroine is particularly fond. 
 She says, that it refreshes her when weary 
 and soothes her when depressed. And as 
 
 5 -2
 
 68 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 she submits to it this afternoon, dreamily 
 hanging meanwhile over a book which she 
 makes an attempt to read, the cloud 
 seems to pass from her spirits, the air is 
 lighter, the heat of the day more bearable ; 
 she even anticipates the moment when she 
 shall go down-stairs again. 
 
 " Fond of sport, and wine, and chatter," 
 she ponders (her maid watching her reflec- 
 tion in the glass meanwhile, and wondering 
 what should cause so palpable a shade of 
 disappointment to pass over the features of 
 her mistress) ; " and sufficiently ordinary 
 to have a good appetite, and not to be 
 ashamed to own it. Well ! why should 
 he ? How could the mind work hard 
 when the body is not well nourished ? 
 And as for his shooting and fishing pro- 
 pensities, his possession of them is the 
 most fortunate thing in the world for me ; 
 for if his health permits of it, Lyster
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS. 69 
 
 will be able to take him entirely off my 
 hands. By-the-way, no one has men- 
 tioned anything about his health, except- 
 ing that he looks pale. Well ! I need 
 not have been alarmed on the score of 
 meeting him. ' Commonplace' and ' ordi- 
 nary/ How strange that a man should 
 be so different in print to what he is in 
 reality. I suppose he cannot really feel 
 what he writes." But here certain lines, as 
 full of music as they are of feeling, flash on 
 the mind of Lady Gwynne, and defy her to 
 imagine that their author can be a man with- 
 out a soul. 
 
 Her cheeks flush as they vibrate through 
 her memory, touching her heartstrings with 
 a mysterious sympathy that seems but the 
 echo of its own beating. So has she often 
 longed to pour forth her unspoken sorrows, 
 and give that a voice, which she has as yet 
 hardly dared to whisper to herself; but she
 
 70 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 does not believe that she is capable of doing 
 so ; whilst Auberon Slade, though perfectly 
 unknown to her, seems to have rifled all 
 the treasures of her heart beforehand, and 
 written down, for her especial benefit, what 
 she has not the power to express. 
 
 But if he is really all that Sir Lyster and 
 Miss Musgrave have represented him to be, 
 Lady Gwynne is quite certain that, in real 
 life, they shall have no sympathy with one 
 another. 
 
 " It is very puzzling," she concludes, with 
 an inward sigh, as, the dressing of her hair 
 completed, she proceeds to submit to the 
 task of being robed for dinner ; yet she 
 looks brighter for the information she has 
 received, and less careworn than she did 
 in the morning. 
 
 Her manner contradicts her statement, 
 and seems far more as though she rejoiced 
 to have heard that the acquaintanceship
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS. 
 
 of Auberon Slade is no more to be desired 
 than that of less gifted mortals. 
 
 Meanwhile the object of her meditation 
 is no better reconciled to the position in 
 which he has so unexpectedly found himself 
 than at first. 
 
 True, that both Sir Lyster and Miss 
 Musgrave are correct in their reports, and 
 his chagrin was not sufficient to rob him of 
 his appetite at luncheon, or to render him 
 silent and uncommunicative : for in yielding 
 to the Baronet's importunities, he feels that 
 he has taken upon himself an obligation 
 which, as a man of the world and a gentle- 
 man, he will fulfil to the uttermost. But 
 the situation bores him ; the ride round the 
 estate has bored him ; the egotistical, never- 
 ending small talk of Sir Lyster has driven 
 him wild ; and as he prepares for dinner, 
 striving to make himself look as fresh as he 
 can in his morning clothes (another cause
 
 72 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 of worry, for Auberon Slade hates to appear 
 before women in inappropriate costume), be 
 is inventing all sorts of stories that will 
 serve as plausible excuses to return to Bur- 
 wood, or to town. 
 
 The undeserved cordiality with which 
 he has been received ; the pleasures that 
 are promised him ; the luxuries by which he 
 is surrounded ; have no power to make him 
 feel contented. He came down to the 
 country to obtain perfect rest, and freedom 
 from the restraints of society, and he has 
 been baulked of his intentions against his 
 own free will ; and although he does not 
 show it, he is out of temper with himself 
 and the world. 
 
 All this time he has not once thought of 
 his hostess, except as an additional prospec- 
 tive source of annoyance to him ; it has not 
 entered his head to speculate on her probable 
 appearance (he never thinks or cares about
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS. 73 
 
 the looks of women now ; all his feelings 
 on that subject being buried with the dead 
 hopes he mourns so prettily) but if an idea 
 of her had crossed his mind, it would only 
 have presented itself in a stout and impos- 
 ing shape, a fit match to the charms of Sir 
 Lyster. 
 
 But having finished, as he best may, his 
 toilet, and turned into an end of the long 
 velvet-carpeted corridor which leads to the 
 lower rooms, Auberon Slade is startled to 
 come upon the figure of a woman ; clad 
 in a flowing robe of soft white muslin, 
 relieved by knots of mauve ribbon ; leaning 
 out of one of the windows which look upon 
 the park, and watching the glorious August 
 sun as it sinks like a ball of fire behind the 
 trees. 
 
 There is nothing remarkable in this 
 woman's figure, except that it is slight and 
 graceful ; nothing very remarkable in the
 
 74 TEE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 high brow and rapt earnest eyes, turned up 
 towards the evening sky ; and yet our hero 
 stands still, and thinks ; not that she is 
 pretty, or aristocratic, or well formed, but 
 simply that he has never met with such a 
 face and figure before. 
 
 There may be hundreds and thousands 
 of women, better looking and better made, 
 but this one is original. 
 
 The slight noise of his approaching foot- 
 steps causes her to turn her head, and she 
 starts and leaves her position, and comes a 
 little forward. 
 
 " Mr. Slade, I presume," with a blush, 
 and timidly proffered hand ; "I am very 
 glad indeed to see you — Sir Lyster told me 
 you had arrived. I am so sorry I was un- 
 able to be down to luncheon." 
 
 And then Auberon Slade understands 
 that he is in the presence of his hostess. 
 Surprise for the first moment almost de-
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS. 
 
 prives him of his usual readiness of speech, 
 but in the next he has recovered himself, 
 and apologises freely for the roughness of 
 his attire ; whilst she, after one rapid glance 
 at his face, keeps her eyes fixed upon the 
 ground, and begs him not to mention the 
 subject, from that point of view. 
 
 " Certainly not pretty," is his mental 
 decision, as he slowly follows Lady Gwynne 
 down the broad staircase to the drawing- 
 room, " not a single good feature in her 
 face, and much too thin for my taste. But 
 marvellously speaking eyes and mouth, and 
 no lack of brains. I wonder what on earth 
 made her marry such a brute as Sir 
 Lyster." 
 
 " Emily is right/' she thinks, as she 
 precedes him ; " decidedly commonplace, 
 so far as his appearance is concerned, and 
 very delicate-looking. I wish I could find 
 something to say to him. I suppose I shall
 
 76 TEE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 not feel so hete when we know each other 
 a little better. " 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding that she is so plain, 
 and he so ordinary-looking, Lady Gwynne 
 is conscious, more than once, during the 
 dinner that succeeds, that the eyes of the 
 new comer are bent upon her from the 
 opposite side of the table ; not in imperti- 
 nence or idle curiosity, but with a kind of 
 vague interest, as though he were trying 
 to read some riddle in her face ; and she 
 cannot summon up the courage to lift her 
 own to meet his gaze. 
 
 Oh, hearts ! that look out thus upon 
 each other in the first hour, from strange 
 eyes whose colour you have yet to learn — 
 attracted by no outward circumstance of 
 light or shade, but drawn together by a 
 mysterious sympathy which you can neither 
 account for nor dispel — take heed, be care- 
 ful ; and if an obstacle exists to your per-
 
 THE CLOUD Bll EARS. 
 
 i i 
 
 fected union, fly from each other as you 
 would fly a pestilence. For this sudden, 
 undesired attraction ; this electric message 
 from a stranger's soul to yours, is not of 
 earth ; it is part of the inexplicable mystery 
 that surrounds our being ; God given, either 
 for happiness or misery, and far oftener for 
 the latter than the former. 
 
 It is not Passion, for passion can generate 
 at the vision of mere beauty ; nor is it Love, 
 in the common acceptation of the word, for 
 love can live for hearts who love in answer, 
 though their souls may never interchange a 
 syllable. 
 
 It is something far more dangerous, 
 more subtle, because more unsuspected in 
 its influence, than these ; it is the unspoken 
 language of one everlasting spirit to 
 another. 
 
 Passion evaporates with satiety ; Love 
 may turn to hate, or perish with its object :
 
 78 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 but Sympathy, true, soul-felt, and earnest, 
 cannot die ! 
 
 Conceived spontaneously, born in a 
 moment, and full-grown in an hour, it 
 exists to all eternity ! It may be inter- 
 rupted upon earth, but it must be renewed 
 in heaven ; because it is the indissoluble 
 marriage-tie between the only particles of 
 us that meet again, unchanged. 
 
 There is a large party of guests assem- 
 bled in Felton Hall at this period, but very 
 few amongst them, comparatively speaking, 
 are ladies, and not more than three or four 
 companions accompany Lady Gwynne from 
 the dining table to the drawing room. 
 Then the comments pass freely upon Mr. 
 Slade, and are mostly found to agree with 
 those of Emily Musgrave. 
 
 The new comer is too thin : his eyes are 
 too small : his feet too large : and he talks 
 to no one but the gentlemen at dinner ; —
 
 THE CLOUD BREAKS, 7!) 
 
 which, after all, is the real cause of 
 offence. 
 
 " Now what do you think about him, 
 Lady Gwynne ? Are you not very much 
 disappointed ?" 
 
 She hardly knows what to answer : she 
 scarcely remembers what the man is like. 
 She is only conscious of a soft, new, deli- 
 cious feeling of contentment creeping over 
 all her senses, and making her feel as 
 though some one had been speaking to her, 
 and she were listening for the sound to be 
 renewed. But they press her to reply. 
 
 " No, I don't think that I am so disap- 
 pointed in him ; but perhaps my expecta- 
 tions were not so high as yours. I think 
 that we shall like him. Any way, we can 
 but try." 
 
 And later in the evening, when her rip- 
 pling laughter reaches Major Calvert's ears 
 across the room, and he asks her slily
 
 80 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 what has become of the gloomy presenti- 
 ment of the morning, she turns a face 
 upon him which is free from any expression 
 but that of complete satisfaction. 
 
 "Vanished! Major Calvert. Vanished 
 altogether. I think I must have slept it 
 away this afternoon. Now, don't laugh at 
 me in that manner ! What a wretch you 
 are ! I declare you shall never extract 
 one of my secrets from me again. r 
 
 And her light laugh rings out once more 
 through the apartment, until Auberon 
 Slade, turning to look at her, thinks how 
 unlike she appears to the woman whom he 
 encountered that afternoon, leaning out of 
 the corridor window, and gazing so intently 
 at the setting sun.
 
 UNDER THE WALNUT TREE. 81 
 
 CHAP TEE V. 
 
 UNDER THE WALNUT TREE. 
 
 fMHE next morning may be a very 
 tempting one, but Auberon Slade 
 successfully resists all endeavours on the 
 part of his host to make him forget duty 
 for pleasure, and retreats to his den di- 
 rectly after breakfast, thereby sinking con- 
 siderably in Sir Lyster s opinion ; though 
 after his many promises to the contrary he 
 dare not combat his resolution. He can- 
 not imagine what a young fellow can see 
 in pen, and ink, and paper, to distract his 
 attention from the prospect of a ride over 
 vol. i. 6
 
 82 THE PREY OF THE GOES. 
 
 to Chorley ; nor how consent to shut him- 
 self up in a stifling room during the best 
 part of the day. 
 
 When Calvert suggests that it may be 
 business that detains Mr. Slade in the 
 house against his will, Sir Lyster becomes 
 a little pacified ; and as the Major follows 
 up his remark by a wish that he could 
 turn Ms brains to any account, by Jove ! 
 the Baronet is almost reconciled to the idea 
 of leaving his literary guest at home. 
 
 For Sir Lyster only fusses and fumes 
 and contradicts before women ; he is too 
 politic to show that side of his nature to 
 his own sex ; he can be bombastic enough 
 with them, it is true, when left unchecked, 
 but a manly opinion, decidedly expressed, 
 generally draws an acquiescence from him ; 
 or, at least, commands his silence. 
 
 Lady Gwynne does not regard the reso- 
 lution of their guest in the same light that
 
 I'XDER THE WALNUT TREE. S3 
 
 her husband does. She admires him for 
 it. Not knowing the objections he enter- 
 tains to staying at Felton Hall, she fancies 
 she reads in the expression of his face, that 
 his heart for that morning, at all events, is 
 not in his work, and once or twice she 
 thinks he is on the point of yielding ; but, 
 no ! he holds firm against a strong opposi- 
 tion, and fights off all remonstrances with 
 a simple " must." 
 
 And as she sees him walk deliberately 
 up-stairs, and hears him turn the key in 
 the door of the morning room allotted to 
 his use ; she feels almost proud, as though 
 he were something that belonged to her, 
 and she held a personal interest in his 
 strength of purpose. 
 
 She has not had the opportunity of 
 closely observing the working of a strong, 
 firm will; except in the person of Sir 
 Lyster, whose virtues seldom stop short 
 
 6—2
 
 84 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 of their opposite extremes. And the quiet, 
 unhesitating refusals of Auberon Slade, do 
 more than interest, — they charm her. 
 
 But the gentleman in question, although 
 he can be as resolute as he chooses in his 
 own cause, is not perhaps deserving on 
 this particular occasion, of all the praise his 
 hostess mentally awards him. 
 
 The morning is a glorious one, and 
 moving through the fresh air would cer- 
 tainly be pleasanter than bending over 
 manuscript in a close room ; but he has 
 work to finish that must be completed by 
 a certain time, and he has been an author 
 long enough to know, that a day lost is 
 not easily regained. 
 
 At Burwood he was used to ponder 
 quietly upon his coming task, as he strolled 
 along the edges of the trout stream, and 
 then throw all his gleanings upon paper by 
 the sober lamplight ; but if he stays at
 
 UNDER THE WALNUT TREE. R5 
 
 Felton Hall — and Auberon Slade has 
 already come to the conclusion that unless 
 he wishes mortally to offend his father's 
 old friend, he will be obliged to stay there, 
 for a few days, at least — he hardly sees 
 how he can do otherwise — he knows that 
 neither the time for peaceful reflection, or 
 for evening labour, will be his own. 
 
 It is a noisy, boisterous household : 
 generally filled by the loud voice of Sir 
 Lyster, or the shouting of his guests ; the 
 last place in the world that a busy man 
 would choose to stay in. 
 
 Auberon Slade enlarges on this fact as 
 he dashes off a hasty, angry letter to his 
 father, begging to know why he did not 
 leave it to him to say whether he desired 
 the society of Sir Lyster Gw} 7 nne or not ; 
 and accusing the old man of having by 
 his inadvertence placed him in a most un- 
 pleasant position, from which he foresees
 
 86 THE PREY OF THE GOBS. 
 
 great difficulty in extricating himself with 
 politeness. 
 
 The letter concludes with a request that 
 his father or mother will send an epistle to 
 Felton Hall in the course of a few days, 
 requesting his return to Blankshire, as he 
 has no intention of remaining there beyond 
 that space of time ; his literary engage- 
 ments (as Mr. Slade might have premised, 
 before plunging him in so awkward a 
 dilemma) being far too numerous to be 
 fulfilled in a house filled with company. 
 
 After having relieved his feehngs in 
 which manner, Auberon Slade pulls a lot 
 of foolscap paper out of the bottom of his 
 portmanteau, and placing it before him, 
 sits down to compose some verses which he 
 is pledged to send to a certain popular 
 magazine by the end of the month. For 
 our hero has reached that happy stage on 
 the ladder of Fame, when his name, and the
 
 UNDER THE WALNUT TREK. 87 
 
 name of his contributions to the periodicals 
 he elects to favour, are advertised in letters 
 three times the size of those dedicated to 
 less fashionable contributors ; which fact 
 causing many well-meaning, but ignorant 
 people, to suppose that his paper or poem 
 must also be three times the length of any 
 of the others, has been the means of much 
 disappointment, when on the purchase of 
 the magazine, a sonnet, consisting of eight 
 lines, addressed to no one in particular, and 
 touching upon no especial subject, has been 
 found to be the only contribution under 
 the thrilling signature of Auberon Slade. 
 
 But if the public, on the production of 
 a few creditable lines, destitute of false 
 quantities and glaring errors, will make a 
 man "the rage," it must expect to see the 
 value of his wares rise in his own estima- 
 tion, as he has risen in that of itself. 
 
 And Auberon Slade, for this season at
 
 88 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 least, is decidedly " the rage," but whether 
 deservedly so, is another question. He is a 
 very fair poet ; and has a knack of breath- 
 ing passionate ideas, in language as musical 
 as pure, that goes home to human hearts ; 
 and has caused even his reviewers to ac- 
 knowledge that there is real merit in his 
 verses, and a future before him if he chooses 
 to work it out. 
 
 But Auberon Slade is only six-and- 
 twenty ; sanguine, and not a little con- 
 ceited, and the danger is, lest he should 
 consider that he has already done enough ; 
 that he could not do much better even if 
 he tried ; and rest contented with the 
 praises he has won. 
 
 The disappointment that has already 
 overtaken him has done him good in this 
 respect — it has lowered his opinion of him- 
 self, if not of his verses ; but no one that 
 regarded him as he now sits, twisting the
 
 UNDER THE WALNUT TREE. 89 
 
 pen about in his hand, and dashing off the 
 first ideas that come into his head, with 
 scarcely a reviewing thought, as if anything 
 were good enough that emanated from him, 
 could doubt that he requires to step further 
 into the fiery furnace of affliction, before 
 his confident nature is subdued, and the 
 real metal that is in him, purified for the 
 world's use. 
 
 He is writing a sonnet upon " Woman's 
 Eyes ;" rather an abusive sonnet indeed, 
 remembering the flashing orbs that so 
 lately led him on, but to deceive him. But 
 somehow he does not proceed very fast with 
 his work ; thoughts do not come quite so 
 readily as usual ; the heat is oppressive, 
 and he feels strange in the unaccustomed 
 room ; added to which, whenever he com- 
 mences to level his indignation at the per- 
 fidious orbs of the sex in question, the 
 earnest eyes of Lady Gwynne, as he first
 
 90 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 saw them, seem to rise between the paper 
 and himself, and forbid the wholesale con- 
 demnation. 
 
 " Very strange eyes," he muses, " so 
 wonderfully changeable ; one moment full 
 of mirth, and the next with a yearning ex- 
 pression in them that is positively painful 
 to contemplate. I wonder if she ever de- 
 ceived a man as that jade deceived me ! 
 No, I couldn't believe it of her. There's 
 too much truth in her face. Besides, it's 
 always the women who stick up for beauties 
 that turn out such " 
 
 But what the women who stick up for 
 beauties turn out in Mr. Slade's estimation 
 he had best keep to himself. 
 
 It certainly is not a day for steady appli- 
 cation ; the soft warm air, laden with the 
 scent of flowers comes stealing in such a 
 seductive manner through the open case- 
 ment, and wandering over his hair and
 
 UNDER THE WALNUT THEE. :>1 
 
 moustaches like a woman's lip ; the crim- 
 son leaves of autumn creepers, fluttering 
 against the sill, sound like the rustling of a 
 dress : and twin pears, dependant from one 
 stalk, keep tapping on the upper panes as 
 though they invited him to step outside 
 and contemplate their beauties from an- 
 other point of view. 
 
 Low murmurs, too, rise from the lawn 
 beneath his window, mingled with the 
 occasional shrill chatter of a child ; until 
 Auberon Slade, quite convinced that for 
 the present, inspiration has flown, deserts 
 the foolscap and the inkstand — oh, re- 
 creant wooer ! — and advancing to the win- 
 dow, leans both his elbows on the sill, and 
 gazes on the scene before him. How 
 much more jolly and cool it looks, than 
 he feels up there ! How he wishes he 
 were an idle man, that he might go down 
 and join them !
 
 92 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 Under the shade of an old far-spreading 
 walnut tree sits Lady Gwynne, a broad- 
 brimmed hat upon her head and a small 
 green volume in her hand ; whilst at her 
 feet, Daisy, her only child, a troublesome 
 elf of eight or nine years old, is vainly en- 
 deavouring to induce her kitten to submit 
 quietly to be taught to read, by having its 
 paw firmly grasped and drawn along the 
 lines in her spelling-book ; and seated on 
 chairs beside her, are Emily Musgrave and 
 two other girls, cousins of Lady Gwynne, 
 whose fingers are employed in needle- 
 work, whilst their eyes are every now 
 and then raised to the face of their 
 hostess. 
 
 It is evident that she is reading to 
 them, but what he cannot yet determine. 
 But he feels that it is abominably hot 
 weather, and he is so unaccustomed to 
 compose by daylight, he does not believe
 
 UNDER THE WALNUT TREE. 93 
 
 he shall do a single stroke of work that 
 morning. 
 
 Then he walks up to the table, tumbles 
 over all his papers, decides that woman's 
 eyes, and everything else that belongs to 
 woman, are worn-out subjects, and he must 
 think of something fresher ! Only he never 
 can evolve a new idea except when the 
 house is silent, and he is quite alone. 
 Finally he returns to the window and 
 takes up his old position. It is certainly 
 much cooler to sit in a current of air. 
 
 Either the pears have ceased tapping on 
 the -window-pane, or Daisy's voice is more 
 subdued ; but he can hear perfectly well 
 what Lady Gwynne is reading now. The 
 first words that fall upon his ear act like a 
 wicked charm — " I did not come to curse 
 thee, Guinevere. " 
 
 " Tennyson, by Jove !" and up starts 
 Auberon Slade, as excited as a war-how
 
 94 THE PREY OF THE GOES. 
 
 that hears the trumpet call to battle, and 
 prepares to rush down-stairs. A reproach- 
 ful thought does flash across his mind, as 
 he thrusts the virgin-foolscap to one side, 
 but he dismisses it peremptorily. 
 
 " Bother the work !" is his silent excla- 
 mation ; "I can do twice as much by night 
 as I can by day, and I shall feel more like 
 myself to-morrow. No fellow on earth 
 could write, with Tennyson being read 
 aloud just outside his window. And she 
 didn't read that line half so badly either. 
 I wonder if she's got any taste for that sort 
 of thing. " and in another moment he is in 
 a position to answer the question for 
 himself. Or would be — that is to say, if 
 Lady Gwynne would have the goodness to 
 proceed with her occupation, instead of 
 getting as red as a peony, and thrusting 
 the " Idylls " behind her garden chair. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Slade ! I trust we have not
 
 UNDER THE WALNUT THEE. 95 
 
 disturbed you. I thought we were too far 
 off for our voices to reach your window." 
 
 " And so you would have been, had I 
 not purposely courted the pleasure of lis- 
 tening to them. But the idea of lying 
 under this luxuriant shade, and hearing 
 Tennyson read aloud, was too great a 
 temptation to me. Pray, go on, Lady 
 G wynne !" 
 
 And, casting himself upon the grass be- 
 side Miss Daisy, Auberon Slade awaits the 
 conclusion of Arthur's glowing speech. 
 
 But Lady Gwynne is scarcely equal to 
 the occasion. She crimsons, if possible, 
 deeper than she did before, and falters out 
 that she cannot — really she cannot ! 
 
 " Not before you," she concludes, with a 
 nervous laugh. 
 
 Auberon Slade's expressive eyes look 
 upward and backward at her blushing- 
 face.
 
 96 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " And why not before me, Lady Gwynne ? 
 Because I can scribble poetry is no reason 
 why I should be able to read it. And 
 indeed, I doubt whether I could read it 
 more appropriately than I heard you do, 
 just now." 
 
 " How much did you hear ?" 
 
 " One line — but that was quite sufficient ; 
 the reader who can give the proper intona- 
 tion to that line, will be able to interpret 
 the whole poem I" 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Slade, do you read it to us 
 then," exclaims Miss Musgrave, who would 
 not be rendered too bashful to express her 
 wishes, even by the presence of Tennyson 
 himself. 
 
 " I would much rather hear Lady Gwynne 
 read it," he answers gravely. 
 
 Thus encouraged, Lady Gwynne, with 
 rather a rueful countenance, picks up the 
 fallen volume, and re-opens it at the page
 
 UNDER THE WALNUT THEE. 97 
 
 where she left off. She feels horribly 
 nervous at reading poetry before Auberon 
 Slade * but she is sensible enough to know 
 that by a reiterated refusal she will only 
 lower herself in his eyes ; and that it is best 
 to take him at his word, and believe he really 
 wishes to hear her. 
 
 So, with rather a trembling voice, and 
 amidst a battery of sly looks from her 
 cousins and Emily Musgrave, she takes up 
 the thread of the royal speech, and reads 
 it to the end ; forgetting herself after a 
 while, in the beauty of the words she utters, 
 and throwing so much pathos into them, that 
 she is startled by the round of unpremedi- 
 tated applause that greets her conclusion. 
 
 " Bravo, Gwendoline ! I never heard 
 you read that poem so well before," bursts 
 from her cousins — and Miss Musgrave 
 declares that the presence of Mr. Slade 
 must have inspired her. 
 
 vol. i. 7
 
 98 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 But he says nothing in the way of 
 admiration, except a fervent " Thank you/' 
 as he takes the volume from her hands. 
 
 " Now you will really read to us — won't 
 you ?" she demands hurriedly, as, red with 
 excitement, she bends towards him. 
 
 " Yes ! do !" interrupts Emily Musgrave, 
 " and then Lady Gwynne must repeat some 
 of your poetry, Mr. Slade ! She knows it all 
 by heart, and is always saying it to herself." 
 
 " Emily i" says Lady Gwynne — in a 
 voice which sounds quite changed in its 
 warning and reproach. 
 
 " Now, it's no good denying it, Lady 
 Gwynne ; besides, Mr. Slade can only feel 
 flattered by the compliment. I remember 
 distinctly your telling me, last spring, that 
 you always felt such pleasure in repeating 
 it to yourself when you lay awake at night, 
 because it tallied so exactly with your own 
 feelings."
 
 UNDER THE WALNUT TREK. 
 
 At this Auberon Slade, with all a poet's 
 vanity, cannot help glancing upwards at 
 the countenance of his hostess ; but the 
 distress he sees pictured there, causes him 
 to turn away as hastily, and occupy his 
 attention with the green books scattered on 
 the grass. 
 
 " May I read nay favourite to you V he 
 says, with apparent indifference, as he turns 
 over the pages of another volume by the 
 same author. 
 
 No one answers him ; and he dashes, 
 without ceremony, into " Love and Duty." 
 His voice is mellow and flexible to a decree, 
 and his manner eminently dramatic without 
 being stagey ; so that all his listeners are 
 deeply impressed, and a profound silence 
 follows the last word of the poem. 
 
 " Could that be surpassed V he asks, 
 when the silence has continued Ions: enough. 
 
 " Hardly !" 
 
 7—2
 
 LOO THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 The reply comes from Emily Musgrave 
 
 but the tone is so subdued, he scarcely 
 recognises it. 
 
 " That is your favourite also, is it not V 
 she continues, as she turns to Lady Gwynne. 
 
 At this, the reader looks up eagerly. 
 
 "Is it indeed ? But I am not surprised 
 that our tastes should agree/' 
 
 Lady Gwynne smiles ; but she does not 
 answer him ; her eyes are too full of tears, 
 and he sees it. A dangerous ovation on 
 the part of woman to genius !
 
 A MATTER FOB. THOUGHT. 101 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A MATTER FOR THOUGHT. 
 
 P UT if Auberon Slade's vanity is excited 
 by Lady Gr Wynne's tears in the morn- 
 ing, it receives a wholesome check from 
 Lady G Wynne's frankness in the evening. 
 
 And this desirable result is brought 
 about chiefly by the pertinacity of Sir 
 Lyster in desiring her to sing a certain 
 song. 
 
 She has been very gay to-night ; for her, 
 particularly gay, for she is experiencing, for 
 the first time, the delight of being under- 
 stood ; of feeling that at last she has fallen
 
 102 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 in with some one who will not stare when 
 she says what she thinks ; nor call her 
 honest impulses extravagance ; and her 
 reverent admiration, rhapsody. 
 
 For so much she has gathered from the 
 conversation which followed her morning- 
 interview with Auberon Slade. And the 
 new pleasure brightens her eyes and plays 
 in smiles about the corners of her mouth ; 
 she is espiegle, witty — at moments, almost 
 sharp ; she is bringing out a third phase of 
 her character for the dissection of her guest, 
 who, unknown to himself, is becoming 
 hourly more interested in the contempla- 
 tion of her various moods. 
 
 But Sir Lyster wants a song ; and of 
 course Sir Lyster will have it. 
 
 " What are you all chattering there for ?" 
 he exclaims, as he looks up from the game 
 of piquet he is playing with Mr. Lawrence, 
 to where his wife and her companions are
 
 A MATTER FOR THOUGHT. 103 
 
 clustered together. " Can't you do some- 
 thing V 
 
 " What shall we do V inquires Lady 
 Gr wynne, as she turns her beaming face 
 upon her husband. 
 
 " Sing or play. Why don't you sing us 
 a song, Gwendoline V 
 
 She rises at once, and moves towards the 
 piano ; but Mr. Slade is there before her, 
 to throw back the heavy cover of the instru- 
 ment, and turn over the leaves at the wrong 
 time, in the deliciously helpless manner of 
 those who have not sufficient knowledge of 
 music to ascertain when a performer has 
 reached the last bar on the page. 
 
 Lady G wynne is not a brilliant musician, 
 but she plays and sings sufficiently well to 
 please those who listen to her. To-night, 
 however, she seems a little nervous, and 
 the first chords struck are rather feebly 
 pronounced. Yet not too much so, but
 
 104 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 that Sir Lyster discovers they are not the 
 prelude to the air he wishes for. 
 
 " Not that," he says, authoritatively ; 
 " sing the song you sung us two nights 
 ago — something about a 'secret.' What 
 was it V 
 
 Lady Gwynne reddens considerably. 
 
 " Oh ! that was nothing — only some 
 nonsense of my own. Let me sing the 
 'Fireside Song' — or Sullivan's 'Give.' 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! Let's hear all about 
 the secret. I like the air; it's been ringing 
 in my ears ever since." 
 
 Lady Gwynne twists about upon the 
 music-stool, and wishes the air had been 
 a quarter less attractive. The fact being 
 that the music is her own, and the words 
 are Auberon Slade's ; and she feels shy of 
 letting him see they hold so much attrac- 
 tion for her, even though it is months 
 since she set them to her simple melody.
 
 A MATTER FOR THOUGHT. LOS 
 
 " Oh ! do sing it, Lady Gwynne ; it has 
 such lovely words," chimes in Miss Mus- 
 crave. 
 
 " And if the music is your own, it will 
 possess all the deeper interest for us," 
 pleads the voice of the author by her 
 side. 
 
 " Oh, very well — of course," she utters 
 in a fluttering manner, and thereupon 
 begins to play and sing. 
 
 The verses are some of his least meri- 
 torious ; dashed off in a hasty moment, 
 and but little thought of afterwards ; but 
 they are very simple and very pathetic, — 
 and it would have been better if she had 
 at once acknowledged they were his. 
 
 Of course he recognises them ; watches, 
 too, the glowing colour that mounts higher 
 and higher in the singer's face, as she sees 
 the recognition in his own : and draws a 
 pleasing inference from the fact, for which
 
 106 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 she hates herself, and thinks that she 
 despises him. 
 
 " You have heard the words before ?" 
 she says, confusedly, when she has finished. 
 
 Sir Lyster and Mr. Lawrence are busy 
 over their game of piquet, and the other 
 gentlemen are grouped about the young 
 ladies at the further end of the room, so 
 that they are, comparatively speaking, by 
 themselves. 
 
 " I believe so/' he replies ; but the look 
 which accompanies his answer displeases 
 her. It is too conscious. 
 
 " Why can't you say ' yes ' at once ? Sir 
 Lyster does not know them, because he 
 never reads poetry ; but everyone else does, 
 of course ; and when I feel in the mood for 
 murdering harmony, I generally compose 
 the air first, and then search through all my 
 books of verse, from Shelley downwards, 
 until I find some stanzas that will fit it."
 
 A MATTER FOE THOUGHT. 107 
 
 " Indeed ! How very low you had to 
 grovel before you accommodated yourself 
 • this time." 
 
 She laughs uneasily, but will not contra- 
 dict his words. 
 
 " Oh ! this melody is in very common 
 measure, and easily suited. I know it is a 
 horrible unorthodox plan ; but I am no 
 mistress of composition/' 
 
 "Nor I a judge of musical orthodoxy; 
 and so hoped the sentiment had first 
 arrested your attention, and then the 
 words set themselves unconsciously to 
 music in the niofht." 
 
 Which so exactly describes the process 
 by which Auberon Slade's stanzas have 
 wedded themselves to the melody of Lady 
 G wynne, that she looks conscious, and has 
 nothing to advance in denial of it. Only 
 she wishes that he would turn his eyes 
 another way.
 
 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " Emily, come and play us something. 
 You are all terribly lazy to-night," 
 
 r< Oh, not yet. Lady Gwynne, please ! 
 Mr. Denison is teaching us such a capital 
 method of telling fortunes by the cards." 
 
 She rises and goes towards them, Auberon 
 Slade folio win o- in her wake. 
 
 "Do you believe in such rubbish, Mr. 
 Denison ?" 
 
 •• Scarcely, by this plan, which is only 
 a game : but I have known wonderful things 
 foretold by a friend of my mother's, the 
 Comtesse d'Assi, who is some connection of, 
 and learned her method from the Italian 
 lady whom Napoleon used to consult 
 before engaging in any great political 
 
 measure." 
 
 " How does she tell them V 
 " By the cards, as I do, — only in a 
 different manner/' 
 
 " And you credit them
 
 ATT El: FOR TROUGHT. 
 
 •• They have often come tru 
 
 "Well, the only fortune I believe b 
 . says Auberon Slade. "is the fortune we 
 
 ike. or mar for ourselve ^ hat men 
 call destiny is usually the work of our ov 
 hands. 
 
 "Not always, my dear Slade," repi 
 Major Calvert, laughing. "Sometimes 
 depends upon Government, in which case it 
 is too often marred, and as my faith - 
 pinned entirely upon that respectable body. 
 I need not tell vou it is but smalL 
 
 "Please don't make such a dreadful 
 chattering. Major Calvert. I cannot hear 
 what Mr. Denison is saying." 
 
 "You are very cold-hearted. Miss Mi - 
 grave/' declares her oracle, as he tarns the 
 card- er and over in his hand, and tr 
 
 look profound. u You keep all your 
 admirers at a distance by your cruel be- 
 haviour. There are two, — no, three, at
 
 110 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 this present moment, who are on the verge 
 of committing suicide from the effects of 
 your reticence and impenetrability." 
 
 As soon as the laugh which this very 
 improbable prophecy calls forth from all 
 sides, has subsided, Lady Gwynne exclaims : 
 
 "But I don't call that telling ones 
 fortune. You are an impostor, Mr. Denison, 
 you only say what already exists. You 
 might guess as much as that, from the sheer 
 contemplation of your companion's face, 
 without the aid of cards at all. " 
 
 " Pardon me, Lady Gwynne, everyone 
 has not, like yourself, the faculty of reading 
 characters at first sight." 
 
 " Lady Gwynne is celebrated for making 
 lucky guesses in that respect," some one 
 says to Auberon Slade. 
 
 " Indeed ! can you tell my character, 
 Lady Gwynne ? You have had no oppor- 
 tunity of learning it."
 
 A MATTER FOR THOUGHT. 1 1 1 
 
 She turns towards the eager face up- 
 raised to hers, and scans it for a moment. 
 Then she says, thoughtfully, — 
 
 " What ' luck ' can there be in reading 
 the character of a man or woman, rightly ? 
 To me it seems so difficult to misunder- 
 stand it. There are no two faces alike, — 
 nor two. pair of hands." 
 
 " Do you draw much inference from a 
 hand ?" demands the poet, remembering, 
 with secret satisfaction, his own shapely 
 paw. 
 
 " Oh, I think so ! they are so different. 
 I always look to a woman's hand for her 
 breeding, and her mouth for her temper. 
 In your sex, manual exercise too often 
 destroys the shape." And Lady Gwynne 
 lays her hand upon the table as she speaks, 
 and contemplates it a little lovingly. I 
 have no desire to disguise her faults. 
 
 It is an aristocratic hand : not very
 
 1J2 TEE PHEY OF THE GODS. 
 
 small, perhaps, nor faultlessly moulded ; 
 but white as marble, with long taper 
 fingers, perfect nails, and a firm steadfast 
 look about it, — like a hand that one would 
 like to grasp when the damps of death are 
 on one's brow, and the weakness of mor- 
 tality commences to make itself felt. 
 
 Auberon Slade perceives it, and with a 
 cry, — almost of pleasure, — starts forward 
 and places his hand upon a line with hers. 
 
 A remarkable occurrence ; the two hands, 
 although belonging to different sexes, are 
 almost precisely similar ; and his companion 
 sees it, as well as herself. 
 
 "How very much alike they are," he 
 says, exultantly. :i Are our characters the 
 same V 
 
 But Lady Gwynne withdraws her hand 
 too quickly to express satisfaction at his 
 movement. 
 
 " You forget, Mr. Slade," she answers
 
 A MATTER FOR THOUGHT. 113 
 
 coldly, " that you are a man, and I a 
 woman ; and that strength in me would 
 become weakness in yourself." 
 
 " Tell me my character," he urges. 
 
 " Are you sure you would like to 
 hear it V 
 
 " Quite sure ! — from your lips ; — though 
 if you say that I am very weak, I'm afraid 
 that I shall not believe it." 
 
 " I will not say anything I do not think," 
 she answers quietly, and turns her eyes upon 
 the radiant countenance beside her ; whilst 
 everyone, except the players at piquet, sus- 
 pends his occupation to listen to her judg- 
 ment. 
 
 " Strong powers of feeling," she goes on 
 presently, "acute sensitiveness, love of 
 refinement and luxury, and a very equable 
 temper. Am I right so far V 
 
 " I think so — pray proceed." 
 
 " An affectionate disposition, but rather 
 
 VOL. 1. S
 
 114 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 inclined to self-indulgence ; a very tender 
 heart " 
 
 " By Jove ! she is determined to turn 
 his head," is the silent opinion of Major 
 Calvert, who is standing close by. But his 
 decision is made a moment too soon ; though 
 the eyes of Auberon Slade are beaming with 
 self-satisfaction . 
 
 " But," continues Lady Gwynne, and in 
 her " but " there is a tone which almost 
 bears on sadness ; " but with this, an im- 
 patience of suffering, Mr. Slade ; a want of 
 perseverance ; an inclination to begin things 
 and leave them half completed ; that, un- 
 checked, bids fair to render all your virtues 
 void." 
 
 There is a disposition to laugh on the 
 part of the bystanders at this untoward 
 conclusion, but something in the faces of 
 Lady Gwynne and Auberon Slade, makes 
 them refrain.
 
 .1 MATTER FOR THOUGHT. 115 
 
 " I have no doubt you are quite correct 
 in that particular," exclaims the latter, 
 although he looks anxious and uncomfort- 
 able at the decision of his hostess ; " but I 
 am afraid you give me too much credit for 
 powers of feeling. I have none, Lady 
 Gwynne ; I am a philosopher ; or a cynic, if 
 you will ; certainly a man blessed with too 
 good an appetite and perfect a digestion, to 
 take the trouble of worrying myself about 
 anything that may happen in this world." 
 
 She glances at him quickly — 
 
 " You do not feel joy strongly, nor dis- 
 appointment ?" 
 
 She hits him hardly there, but he does 
 not wince under it. 
 
 " I have seldom found anything in this 
 life capable of affording me the first, and as 
 to the second, I am a stranger to it." 
 
 " The world has used you too well, 
 
 Slade," says Calvert, " it has spoiled you 
 
 8—2
 
 116 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 with flattery and incense ; you will talk 
 differently at some future day." 
 
 " Shall I, my dear fellow ? Then I sin- 
 cerely trust that day may never shine for 
 me/' he returns, with an assumption of com- 
 plete indifference. He is horribly annoyed 
 at the opinion his hostess has expressed of 
 him, and hopes to pique her by a denial of 
 her former statement. The assumption de- 
 ludes Lady Gwynne, who takes it for 
 earnest ; and after gazing at his non- 
 chalant appearance for a moment incre- 
 dulously, turns away to another part of 
 the room, quite determined never again 
 to evince the slightest interest in Auberon 
 Slade. 
 
 "He is not at all the man I took him . 
 for," she thinks, with just a shade of 
 vexation. " He is as conceited as any 
 empty-headed puppy about town, and I 
 wish I had never affected sufficient interest
 
 A MA TTER FOR THO I 'GUT. 1 1 7 
 
 in him to read his character. He will 
 probably think to repay my condescension 
 by an increase of familiarity. But he is 
 much mistaken if he imagines I would per- 
 mit him to do so." 
 
 So that her manner towards her new 
 guest for the rest of the evening, is very 
 cool and indifferent ; and he> perceives the 
 change, and is made, not exactly unhappy 
 by it, but ill at ease, and more determined 
 than ever to leave Felton Hall upon the 
 first occasion. 
 
 But could Lady Gwynne have seen him 
 when, in the solitude of his own room, he 
 leans both his elbows on the table, and 
 thrusts his fingers through his hair, and 
 . stares mechanically at the bed-curtains ; she 
 would have relented having dismissed him 
 with so cold a bow. 
 
 He is really unhappy now ; not at what 
 she said, nor that she should have said it,
 
 118 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 but because in his heart he feels it to be 
 true. 
 
 " Impatient of suffering — unpersevering 
 — and self-indulgent," he mutters to him- 
 self. " Can it really be the case ; and has 
 this woman, a perfect stranger to me, and 
 my past life, read my character more plainly 
 than I ever read it for myself ?" 
 
 As he ponders, the remembrance of 
 great designs sketched out and left in 
 embryo, of noble projects unachieved, and 
 visions of amendment still to be put in 
 execution, flit across his brain and leave it 
 troubled. 
 
 " It is true that I have done but little as 
 yet," he thinks, " but I am young, and life 
 still holds so much enjoyment for me.- 
 When I have somewhat palled of its 
 pleasures, I shall have more time to con- 
 sider how best to benefit my generation." 
 
 Too much enjoyment ! and too much love
 
 A MATTER FOR THOUGHT. 119 
 
 for it ! That is just what her ready wit 
 discovered. Is it possible that at his age 
 one can enjoy life too much ? 
 
 He muses on the luxury of his habits, 
 and those of the society he keeps ; the little 
 time he gives to thought and study; the 
 large leisure he devotes to fashion ; the 
 aptitude with which he casts aside business 
 for the least temptation drawing him the 
 other way — the disappointment into which 
 this tendency betrayed him. 
 
 Aye ! that ioos a disappointment ! at 
 the moment, sharp and piercing as a two- 
 edged sword, dividing joints and marrow ; 
 the mere memory of which can make 
 him shudder, even at humiliation that is 
 past. 
 
 Impatient under suffering ! As Auberon 
 Slade recalls the wild unhallowed period 
 that succeeded that great pain, he is 
 ready to acknowledge that, somehow, Lady
 
 120 THE PREY OF THE GOBS. 
 
 Gwynne knows him better than he knows 
 himself. 
 
 " A very remarkable woman !" he solilo- 
 quises, as he lights a last cigar, by the 
 opened casement, " one moment, as soft and 
 dependent as a little child ; and the next, 
 keen and penetrating as a detective officer ; 
 rather determined too, in her way ; and 
 with any amount of feeling. How she 
 could love too, if that curved open mouth 
 of hers tells truth. I wonder, by the way, 
 if she has ever had any scope for exercising 
 the talent. Hardly, I should imagine — at 
 any rate, with such a blockhead as Sir 
 Lyster. Well, I wish she had not disco- 
 vered this confounded weakness of mine, 
 or rather fancied she had discovered it. 
 For I am not weak, or wanting in per- 
 severance — by George ! I'm not — see how I 
 worked all through last winter — and I'll 
 prove it to her, by finishing my poem before
 
 A MATTER FOR THOU GUT. 121 
 
 I leave the Hall. My lady shall not find 
 me wasting my precious time again, by 
 reading to her beneath* the walnut trees." 
 
 And casting afjide the end of his cigar 
 with every appearance of impatience, Aube- 
 ron Slade retires to his rest.
 
 122 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 
 
 rg^HE morning reflection does not dis- 
 perse the evening resolution, which 
 (as subsequent events will determine) is 
 rather a remarkable occurrence in the life 
 of our hero ; and he sticks to it manfully 
 also, during two days, for which lengthened 
 period he absents himself religiously during 
 working hours, not once showing his face 
 in the garden or even downstairs, to the 
 intense disgust of the younger members of 
 the female community ; who, as Miss Mus- 
 grave remarks, " can't bear a creature who
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. \ 23 
 
 lias had his head so turned by flattery that 
 no one is good enough for him." 
 
 At the end of that time, however, as 
 Lady Gwynne is passing through the hall 
 after breakfast, she hears his voice from 
 the upper story. 
 
 " I say ! look here ! can you get me some 
 more ink ?" 
 
 " Mr. Slade ! is that you ?" 
 
 " Lady Gwynne !" in a voice of horror — 
 "is it possible I was addressing you ? I 
 am so shocked : I thought it was one 
 of the servants, and I have broken my 
 bell." 
 
 " Can I get you anything V 
 
 " Oh, no ! pray don't mention it ! It 
 is only that I have used up all my ink ; I 
 will come downstairs and fetch some for 
 myself." 
 
 But as he reaches the middle of the 
 broad flight, she is already ascending with
 
 124 THE PREY OF THE GOBS. 
 
 the ink bottle in her hand, and they enter 
 his sitting-room together. 
 
 It is a pretty little nook which has been 
 allotted to his use, all trimmed with green 
 and white ; a lady's boudoir in fact, be- 
 sprinkled with fragile ornaments, and pic- 
 tures, suggestive of innocence and peace, 
 in the midst of which the world-worn man 
 looks as incongruous as a snake reposing 
 upon daisies. 
 
 She fills his china inkstand carefully, and 
 then halts by the table for a moment, 
 thoughtfully regarding the mass of papers 
 scattered on its surface, whilst he looks 
 down upon the rich border of her dress, 
 and sighs, though very softly, to himself; 
 the womanly presence making him under- 
 stand the void that has existed in his 
 chamber theretofore. 
 
 " I hope that you are comfortable here, 
 and have everything you want," she says,
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 1 25 
 
 with all the anxiety of a hospitable 
 mind. 
 
 " Everything, thank you ! Nothing 
 could be more convenient or luxurious. 
 In fact, I begin quite to dread returning to 
 my dull chambers in town." 
 
 " There is no necessity for you to do so 
 until you feel inclined. What a mass of 
 writing ! Have you done all that, since 
 you have been here ?" 
 
 " Not quite all, but the greater part, and 
 that within the last two days. Although 
 Lady Gwynne does consider me so idle 
 and unpersevering," he adds, with an up- 
 ward glance that is half deprecating, and 
 half sly. 
 
 Poor Lady Gwynne is one big blush. 
 
 " You know that I could only tell you 
 what the contour of your face and head 
 suggested to my mind. But it is not neces- 
 sary we should prove all that nature in-
 
 L26 TEE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 tended us to be ; that would indeed be a 
 frightful destiny. The worst inclinations 
 may be overcome ; and in your case, the 
 foibles that I mentioned must at the least 
 have been largely fought against, before 
 your name could have attained the place 
 in literature that it has done." 
 
 " Don't lay that flattering unction to my 
 soul," he answers frankly ; "I confess that 
 a disposition to commence things, and then 
 cast them on one side, is my most common 
 failing. Indeed, it is an effort to me to 
 finish anything, even the shortest poem." 
 
 She likes his frankness, but she looks 
 grave at his admission. 
 
 " Then I should make a point, in your 
 case, of never putting anything aside, even, 
 as you say, the briefest sonnet, until it 
 is completed." 
 
 " Ah, if I had your resolution, or your 
 decided spirit always at hand to warn me,
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF, J 27 
 
 I should do greater things than I shall ever 
 be capable of now." 
 
 He delivers himself of this aphorism in 
 such a tone of despondency, that her soft 
 foolish heart is touched. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Slade, what a treasonable 
 speech ! You have a mother and sisters, 
 have you not V 
 
 "Any quantity of them." 
 
 " And would they not warn you if they 
 imagined you required it ? They must be 
 very ambitious for your sake, and proud of 
 what you have already accomplished." 
 
 "My dear Lady Gwynne, it is the 
 greatest mistake in this world to judge the 
 feelings of others by our own. My mother 
 has a copy of my book of ballads, I believe, 
 lying on the drawing-room table ; but I 
 doubt if she, or my sisters, have ever looked 
 into it. I am quite sure they could not 
 repeat a line that it contains, and as to
 
 128 THE PBEY OF THE GODS. 
 
 considering them worth being set to 
 
 music " 
 
 But at this mention of the predilection 
 for them she has herself evinced, Lady 
 Gwynne colours again, and looks down 
 uneasily, and Auberon Slade stops short in 
 his oration. 
 
 She has not been exactly cool in her 
 demeanour towards him since that evening, 
 but she has been less cordial than at first, 
 and more disposed to seek the company of 
 Major Calvert, or any other of her guests. 
 She was a little bit afraid that she had 
 gone too far with Auberon Slade ; that she 
 had appeared too conscious in his presence, 
 and though unwittingly, had paid too high 
 a tribute to his undoubted genius, and, 
 like all modest women, she is sensitive, and 
 in danger now of retreating too far in the 
 opposite direction. And her guest has per- 
 ceived the change, and it has given him pain.
 
 LEFT TO II EH SELF. 129 
 
 " Don't let me think," he continues 
 softly, " that you regret a circumstance that 
 afforded me the keenest pleasure." 
 
 "It is a little thing to afford you 
 pleasure." 
 
 " A little thing to know that you appre- 
 ciate my motives — that you can enter into 
 my thoughts and make them your own ? 
 Oh ! Lady Gwynne, if you say that with 
 sincerity, you cannot know how seldom in 
 this world we meet with sympathy. Many 
 have congratulated, more have nattered me, 
 but it is of very few that I can truly say, 
 1 we think together.' " 
 
 "Your poetry has always given me 
 pleasure," she admits, though half unwil- 
 lingly. " I fancy that I can understand it 
 better than that of most people. Despair 
 and lamentation is altogether out of my 
 line ; so is the exuberance of joy, for I have 
 never known any violent grief, and my life 
 
 VOL, I. 9
 
 130 TEE PREY OF THE GOBS. 
 
 has passed as tranquilly as a summer day. 
 But that yearning for companionship, which 
 you so often express — that intense longing 
 for — for " 
 
 fl For sympathy," interrupted her hearer 
 eagerly ; " for another soul to speak to 
 yours ; to interpret its desires before it 
 utters them ; to keep peace when it wishes 
 to be silent, and to barter thought when 
 the inclination for speech arises ; in fact, 
 you yearn to find another self." 
 
 " And why not add that I sigh for an 
 impossibility ? No two persons in this 
 world are alike." 
 
 " But there are many souls fitted to be 
 companions to each other. Else why 
 should we feel in reading the words of 
 strangers that they convey a correct im- 
 pression of our own thoughts ? Take some 
 of our modern lights for instance, — Ten- 
 nyson, Longfellow, Owen Meredith —
 
 LEFT TO JIFJtSELF. ] 31 
 
 with how many thousand souls do their 
 souls not throb in sympathy ?" 
 
 He is growing sentimental now, but her 
 ]ight laugh recalls him. 
 
 " But how would they all get on in the 
 flesh together, Mr. Slade V 
 
 " Well, I hardly know what to say 
 about that ; except, that if they did not 
 agree, it would be, that either the poets 
 had written what they did not feel, or 
 their readers had mistaken imagination for 
 reality. But there is no such key to a 
 man's heart as his verse, Lady Gwynne, 
 and no such refining process for our own 
 souls as the study of poetry." 
 
 " Do you read much in that way." 
 
 " A great deal. I am still but a tyro in 
 the art, you know — a mere student. I 
 hope to do much better than I have yet 
 done." 
 
 He halts, expecting her to deny the pos- 
 
 9—2
 
 132 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 sibility of such an occurrence ; but the 
 only words that drop from her lips are a 
 confirmation of the statement. 
 
 " Of course ! you ought to, at your age." 
 He doesn't quite like the answer, but he 
 swallows it meekly. 
 
 " What age do you suppose me to be V 
 " About my own — six-and-twenty." 
 " I shall be six-and-twenty in De- 
 cember." 
 
 " There is only a month's difference be- 
 tween us then. And you are at the com- 
 mencement of life, and I seem to have 
 nearly reached its close." 
 " Lady Gwynne !" 
 
 " Oh, you don't know how old it makes 
 a woman feel to be a mother ! Everything 
 seems over then, except looking forward to 
 one's grandchildren." 
 
 They both laugh at this, and she takes 
 the opportunity to move towards the door.
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 133 
 
 " Oh, are you going ? I wish I might 
 come with you V 
 
 " You can do so, if you like. The girls 
 and I are sitting in the morning room to- 
 day. It is too hot to venture out of 
 doors." 
 
 " But may I bring this ponderous volume 
 with me ? I have been studying dramatic 
 verse of late." 
 
 " What is it ? Shakespeare ! Oh, you 
 know that we shall be pleased to hear you 
 read, without fishing for a compliment be- 
 forehand." 
 
 And so, both feeling unusually light- 
 hearted and gay at having made up their 
 little difference, they descend together to 
 the presence of the other ladies, and spend 
 a charming hour in reading and conversa- 
 tion, before the gong summons them to 
 luncheon. 
 
 Having found his time pass so plea-
 
 134 THE PREY OF THE GOES. 
 
 santly, Auberon Slade ponders on the 
 reason ; and coming to the conclusion that 
 it is far easier to fix one's attention on the 
 matter in hand, when reading aloud than 
 when reading to one's self, steals sneaking- 
 downstairs again the following day with 
 Shakespeare under his arm, and a humble 
 request to be readmitted to the morning- 
 room. 
 
 Lady Gwynne slightly demurs ; that is, 
 she hesitates, and is not quite certain 
 whether she intends to sit there, or in the 
 garden. But Auberon Slade is equal to all 
 emergencies, and the girls are vehemently 
 opposed to doing anything but remaining 
 where they are, so that their hostess is 
 compelled through politeness to yield her 
 wishes to theirs, and Shakespeare is carried 
 by universal acclamation. Carried, not 
 only for that day, but several succeeding 
 ones, until more than a week has elapsed
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 135 
 
 since Auberon Slade first read aloud to 
 them beneath the walnut trees. Then a 
 contretemps arises, hitherto unforeseen, and 
 threatening to produce consequences, incon- 
 venient, if not serious. 
 
 Sir Lyster wishes to rid the house of 
 Emily Musgrave and his wife's cousins, for 
 the first of September is close at hand, and 
 he has invited several new guests to Felton 
 Hall ; and Lady Gwynne opposes the mea- 
 sure with spirit. The period originally 
 agreed upon for the young ladies' visit is 
 not expired, and she has an innate dread of 
 being left without female companionship, 
 and begs that she may at least retain one 
 of them. 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense !" ejaculated Sir 
 Lyster, in his sweet reassuring manner ; 
 " what on earth can you want a lot of 
 stupid useless girls about the place, that 
 can do nothing but sniggle and flirt ?" 
 
 o CO
 
 136 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " They amuse the gentlemen. However 
 shall we get through the evenings without 
 them ?" 
 
 " Much better than with them. They 
 don't play cards or billiards, or any sensible 
 game ; and only keep the men dangling 
 after them, when they would much rather 
 be in my smoking-room." 
 
 " My dear Lyster ! you will be overheard 
 if you speak so loud." 
 
 "Don't care who hears me. All the 
 better if they do, and take the hint to clear 
 out. They've been hanging on here for a 
 couple of months, and we shall want their 
 rooms. I've invited Sir John and Lady 
 Cleaver here, and my Uncle Hassell writes 
 me word to-day that he and his wife will 
 be down the beginning of the week." 
 
 " I shall have no companions when they 
 are gone," says Lady Gwynne in a tone of 
 vexation.
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 137 
 
 " You will have Lady Cleaver and my 
 Aunt Hassell. What can you want more V 
 
 " My dear Lyster ! Lady Cleaver never 
 leaves her room till luncheon- time ; and 
 your aunt is so nervous amongst strangers 
 that she takes all her meals alone !" 
 
 " All the better. Who wants to talk to 
 old women ? You will not be bothered by 
 their company/' 
 
 " Yes ! of course, but " She is not 
 
 thinking of the stranger upstairs, nor of 
 the probability of their being thrown in 
 each other's way ; and yet an instinct, not 
 to be accounted for, yet perfectly definable, 
 (which is oftener observable in women than 
 men, and perhaps bestowed on them in 
 common with the other lower animals, to 
 make up for their lack of reasoning powers), 
 urges her to make another effort to retain 
 one at least of her young guard of honour. 
 " Might not Emily stay ? She is always
 
 138 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 happy here, you know, and very useful to 
 me. Let Minnie and Emma go home as 
 you wish, and Emily remain for a month or 
 six weeks longer. The house will be empty 
 again by that time." 
 
 " No ! it is impossible ! I tell you that 
 I want their bedrooms." 
 
 " I could have a sofa-bedstead put in my 
 dressing-room for Emily. She is a good- 
 natured girl, and does not mind a little 
 
 inconvenience." 
 
 But the nobler animal, fully conscious 
 of its mental and physical powers, is de- 
 termined to have its own way. 
 
 " Hang it all ! Am I not master in my 
 own house ? I've told you once already 
 that I wish them to go, all three of them, 
 and you stand there twaddling about sofa- 
 bedsteads and such rubbish. I wish the 
 girls to go : that's quite sufficient, and so 
 now, let's hear no more about it."
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 139 
 
 Consequently lie does hear no more 
 about it, and by the end of the next week 
 Lady Gwynne's cousins and friend are 
 gone, and she finds herself through the 
 long summer days — save for the two old 
 women who never appear till dinner-time — 
 virtually alone. 
 
 Except that Mr. Slade, who must work 
 harder than ever now, if he is to take any 
 recreation in the shooting season, brings 
 down his business, whether of writing or 
 reading into her sitting-room each morn- 
 ing, and she does not know how to prevent 
 his doing so. He says he can compose so 
 much better if some one is sitting in the 
 same room with him.
 
 140 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 XT is about this time that old Mr. Slade, 
 obedient to the peremptorily-expressed 
 desire of his son — of whom he stands just 
 a little in awe — seeds a letter to Felton 
 Hall, to say that Auberon's presence is 
 urgently needed in Blankshire, on business 
 connected with the estate, which will even- 
 tually be his own. And Auberon Slade 
 tosses the epistle on one side, and asks his 
 father by return of post, why on earth he 
 neglected to comply with his demands at 
 the proper time.
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP, 141 
 
 " I have been expecting your letter for 
 the last week/' he writes, with considerable 
 irritation ; " it mi^ht have been of some 
 use to me then, it is not the least now. 
 I have been at Felton Hall more than a 
 fortnight, making use of the house as 
 though it were my own, and I cannot run 
 away just as the shooting season is at hand. 
 Besides, Sir Lyster has invited two or 
 three men expressly to meet me, and I am 
 quite sure that he would take my depar- 
 ture at this moment as a want of polite- 
 ness to himself. You have entirely upset 
 my plans again by your delay, but I must 
 make the best of it, and will take srood 
 care to look after myself in future." 
 
 Having dispatched which filial admoni- 
 tion, Auberon Slade resigns himself with 
 Spartan firmness to the horrors of his lot. 
 
 He is right in surmising that Sir Lystt ir 
 G wynne would take his defalcation at this
 
 142 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 particular juncture as a personal affront. 
 Sir Lyster does not like Auberon Slade ; 
 it is hardly possible that two men, differing 
 so widely in their preferences and pursuits, 
 should amalgamate in common life ; but 
 spite of himself, he cannot help admiring 
 him ; and it flatters his vanity to retain so 
 cogent an attraction under the roof of Fel- 
 ton Hall. 
 
 For if Auberon Slade and Lyster 
 G wynne cannot agree in all things, it is 
 not the case with Auberon Slade and other 
 men. He is essentially a man's com- 
 panion : full of pleasant, worldly chatter, 
 original anecdotes, and smart sayings, that 
 can be carried from one ear to another, and 
 repeated with the greatest advantage. He 
 is an inveterate smoker, and keen sports- 
 man ; can talk over the prospects of the 
 season as ably as he can enlarge upon the 
 doctrinal disputations of the day ; and
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. L43 
 
 discuss the merits of stable or kennel with 
 as much facility as he can quote poetry or 
 prose to suit any topic that may happen to 
 be brought forward. 
 
 His is, in fact, a versatile taste and 
 genius, which is half the secret, perhaps, 
 of his success amongst women ; for, what- 
 ever men may imagine to the contrary, 
 that much-abused sex seldom likes them 
 any the better for hanging about the draw- 
 ing-room when their companions are in the 
 hunting-field. A woman likes a man be- 
 cause he is not a woman ; notwithstanding 
 which, when men, having fulfilled the 
 duties of their station, can contrive to 
 mingle a little feminine softness in their 
 social intercourse, they become doubly dan- 
 gerous animals to be left alone with. 
 
 Auberon Slade has this dangerous gift 
 in perfection, and though Lady Gwynne 
 will not permit him to talk on indifferent
 
 144 THE PREY OF THE GOBS. 
 
 subjects during the hours of study, he has 
 contrived to have several strolls with her 
 after dinner, through the syringa and rose- 
 scented labyrinth of the shrubbery ; and 
 to find out that their opinions tally in 
 most instances, and that where they differ 
 he has little trouble in bringing her round 
 to his own. 
 
 Indeed, those walks (whilst Lady Cleaver 
 and Mrs. Hassell take their after-dinner 
 nap in the drawing-room, and Sir Lyster 
 and his guests are prosing or debating, as 
 the humour takes them, over their bottles 
 in the dining-room) have come to be a 
 recognised institution by these two, who 
 have almost arrived at the point of calling 
 each other friends ; and although Miss 
 Daisy, in her white skirts and fluttering 
 ribbons, is usually hanging on her mother s 
 arm, her presence is not a sufficient check 
 upon their conversation to render the fas-
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 145 
 
 cinating intercourse innocuous. It is the 
 first of September, and from nine o'clock 
 in the morning — save for the three ladies 
 and the child — Felton Hall has been empty 
 of its inmates, and as Lady Gvvynne con- 
 siders it, excessively dull. 
 
 It is the first day that Auberon Slade 
 has absented himself between breakfast 
 and luncheon, and she misses him terribly. 
 The pleasant little room in which they 
 have been accustomed to sit together ; looks 
 so bare and deserted that she cannot stay 
 there ; she so much misses the sound of 
 his rich, mellow voice, as he reads out 
 some striking portion of the poem he is 
 studying ; or the bright, soft look of his 
 eyes as she raises her own, and finds that 
 they are fixed upon her. 
 
 She misses all this, with a kind of sink- 
 ing, cold regret, and walks out of the 
 room impatiently ; and yet never guesses 
 
 vol. I. 10
 
 146 THE PliEY OF THE GODS. 
 
 why the absence of Auberon Slade should 
 be of any moment to her. 
 
 Daisy is hard at work with her gover- 
 ness ; and fat Lady Cleaver is, as usual, in 
 bed ; there is no resource but to join her 
 aunt Hassell in the drawing-room. Aunt 
 Hassell is a withered, half-dead, little 
 woman, who jumps if the door is opened 
 suddenly, and talks with a nervous trem- 
 ble in her voice. She has a nature with 
 which Lady Gwyune cannot sympathise, 
 and of which she is, at times, rather into- 
 lerant ; but a yearning to talk to some 
 one has come over her, and faute de nrnieux, 
 she must talk to Mrs. Hassell. 
 
 The little, ha]f-dead aunt has not much 
 to say, not being in the habit of making 
 pertinent or original remarks upon any 
 subject ; but she knits, and trembles, and 
 replies in monosyllables, and has nearly 
 exhausted her listener s patience, until the
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 147 
 
 conversation somehow works itself round 
 to Auberon Slade. 
 
 " How do you like him, aunt ?" asks 
 Lady Gwynne : a question, by the way, 
 which she has become very fond lately of 
 putting — sub rosa — to her various guests. 
 
 " Oh, I like him well enough, my dear, 
 what I have seen of him. But I think he 
 ought to take more care of himself. " 
 
 Mrs. Hassell's remarks, when she does 
 venture on any, always culminate in some 
 unaccountable manner, on the question of 
 health. 
 
 " Take care of himself," echoes her niece, 
 " but why— he is not ill V 
 
 Mrs. Hassell's head wags backward and 
 forward oracularly, like the head of a toy 
 mandarin. 
 
 It is her only answer ; and at first sight 
 it seems a startling one. 
 
 " What do you mean, aunt V says 
 
 10— 2
 
 148 THE PREY OF TEE GODS. 
 
 Lady Gwynne, in a tone of fluttering 
 alarm. 
 
 " My dear, that young man is consump- 
 tive : lie ought never to remain out after 
 the dew has fallen. He will not last more 
 than three or four years at the outside." 
 
 " But who told you so ?" in a very low 
 voice. 
 
 "My daughter, Mrs. Jerrard, knows the 
 family : they live close together in Blank- 
 shire. His sister died in a decline last 
 year, and I am told that his health was 
 very much affected by his disappointment.' , 
 
 " What disappointment ?" 
 
 " What ! have you never heard ? I 
 thought all the world knew that Mr. Slade 
 was engaged to Lady Mary St. Maur, and 
 that she jilted him ! Very badly she be- 
 haved, I am told ; and that the young man 
 fell quite ill from vexation at her conduct, 
 and was ordered away from London in
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 149 
 
 consequence. And it will have a great 
 effect upon his health without doubt ; for a 
 disease like his is always, more or less, 
 affected by the state of the mind." 
 
 " But are you sure he is consumptive V 
 
 " My dear, no one could look at him and 
 doubt it. Have you not seen how pale he 
 is in the mornings, and flushed at night ? 
 That is always a symptom ; besides Jane 
 tells me that all the family are the same, 
 and that no one supposes that any of them 
 will live to reach old age. Mr. Slade 
 coughed a good deal last evening, after he 
 came in from walking with you. Did you 
 not hear him ?" 
 
 « Yes ! yes— I did." 
 
 Mrs. Hassell does not observe the husky 
 voice in which these words are uttered, nor 
 notice the sudden shadow that falls across 
 her niece's face. 
 
 Good old soul ! how should she ? She
 
 150 THE PXjfr OF THE GODS. 
 
 has never been troubled with dangerous 
 attentions during her married life ; nor en- 
 countered the smallest temptation to be 
 disloyal to her Hassell. British virtue has 
 doubtless a great deal to be proud of in her 
 morality, and a very plain physiognomy 
 still more. Anyway, she does not recog- 
 nise the feeling, and would certainly not 
 sympathise with it if she did. 
 
 What has a wedded heart in common 
 with irregular pulsation, or a wedded cheek 
 with burning, painful blushes ? They 
 ought to have forgotten how such things 
 are done. 
 
 " Where are you going, my dear V de- 
 mands Mrs. Hassell presently, as Lady 
 Gwynne, rising from her seat, moves slowly 
 towards the door. 
 
 " Only to see Daisy ; it wants but an 
 hour to luncheon time, we shall meet 
 then," — and she is gone.
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 151 
 
 She feels as though it would be a com- 
 fort to her, at that moment, to be assured 
 of Daisy's health and spirits — to look 
 upon her blooming face, and strong, stout 
 limbs, and feel happy in the thought that 
 sickness and death are not likely to step in 
 here, and rob her of so valued a possession. 
 And she stays by the child till luncheon 
 time, watching her rough movements, and 
 listening to her sturdy voice (for Miss 
 Daisy is by no means of the sylph-like 
 order of children) with positive relief; and 
 sending up, every other moment, a little 
 prayer of thanks that there is no scourge 
 hanging over her youthful beauty, no here- 
 ditary taint to fear for her, and that she 
 may rest with as much confidence as is 
 permitted to mortality, on the hope of 
 seeing her daughter attain perfected woman- 
 hood. 
 
 But when the melancholy mid-day meal
 
 152 THE PRET OF THE GODS. 
 
 is concluded, and Lady Gwynne is once 
 more released from the society of Mrs. 
 Hassell, she wanders out of doors, and 
 paces up and down beneath the walnut 
 trees, and indulges in a profound melan- 
 choly. There is no Daisy now to divert 
 her thoughts, and make her thankful (that 
 young person having been again captured 
 by her governess, and carried off a prisoner 
 to the school-room) and she muses in a 
 vague manner on the transitory nature of 
 this world's happiness, until she succeeds 
 in making herself thoroughly miserable. 
 
 So, lost in a reverie, she is standing, 
 with the tears thickly gathered in her eyes, 
 when some one steals up behind her on 
 the grass, and says, " Boh !" right in her 
 ear. 
 
 Of course she starts, and of course she 
 laughs ; it is only natural she should laugh 
 to find that Auberon Slade can think of no
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 153 
 
 more dignified manner in which to announce 
 his presence to his hostess. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Slade, how you startled me ! 
 How can you be such a baby ! Are they 
 all here V- 
 
 "No one but myself. After having 
 walked over about a couple of dozen fields 
 this morning, they propose to take as many 
 more this afternoon. But I am quite done 
 up, I could go no farther," and he puts his 
 gun and shot-belt down upon the grass as 
 he speaks. 
 
 " Have you had good sport V 
 
 " Very fair. They'll have made a capital 
 bag by this evening ; Sir Lyster and 
 Calvert appear indefatigable. I shot a 
 couple of dozen brace myself." 
 
 " And you are very tired." 
 
 " Bather so. Such a sedentary life as I 
 lead, unfits one for violent exercise ; but I 
 shall get used to it after a day or two.
 
 154 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 How cool it is out here. Come and sit 
 down \" and as she complies with his 
 request by taking possession of one of the 
 garden chairs, he flings himself full length 
 upon the ground beside her. 
 
 " Oh ! don't sit there," she exclaims 
 quickly, in a voice which, despite of herself, 
 is full of entreaty. " I am sure the grass 
 must be damp, there was a shower last 
 night/' 
 
 . "Well, what of that?" in a tone of 
 amusement, "it won't hurt me if it is. 
 Nothing ever hurts me." 
 
 " But you have a cough," reproachfully. 
 
 " Where ?" as though a cough might be 
 taken all over the body. 
 
 " You coughed last night ; I heard you." 
 
 " Oh, that is nothing, only a tickling in 
 my throat. I always have that in the 
 
 evenings. " 
 
 i( But you should be more careful indeed,
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 155 
 
 Mr. Slade ; coughs are such dangerous 
 things, and you are rather used to them, I 
 believe." 
 
 " Never had a bad one in my life." 
 
 "But — but — your family generally are 
 delicate, are they not ?" 
 
 " As strong as horses, every one of them. 
 Who told you to the contrary, Lady 
 G wynne V 
 
 She is rather confused now, but she 
 blunders on womanfully. 
 
 " I heard — I understood — that is to say 
 my Aunt Hassell informed me just now, 
 that Miss Slade — your sister, that " 
 
 " My poor sister whom we lost last 
 year ?" he says, interrogatively. 
 
 " Yes. Mrs. Hassell has been led to 
 understand that she died in a consumption ; 
 and I know it is catching and runs in 
 families, and I thought perhaps — indeed, 
 mv aunt told me "
 
 156 THE PREY OF THE GODS, 
 
 " That we were a doomed race : and that 
 frightened you." 
 
 The voice in which he ends this sentence 
 is a lowered voice. Intuitively his eyes 
 turn to seek her own, but the search is 
 unsuccessful ; Lady Gwynne's eyes are 
 looking quite in an ojDposite direction, and 
 cnly one part of a very crimson cheek is 
 visible. 
 
 " Were you thinking of that when I 
 surprised you here just now V 
 
 No answer. Oh, Lady Gwynne ! why 
 do you not give a quick indignant denial to 
 his question ? 
 
 " Now I will tell you what are the real 
 facts of the case," says Auberon Slade, 
 when he has gazed at her averted face for 
 as long as decency will permit. " My poor 
 sister died of sheer debility, the conse- 
 quence of an operation which had been 
 performed on her two years before, and
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 157 
 
 from the effects of which she had never 
 recovered, and there was no symptom of 
 consumption about her case ; neither have 
 I ever heard of any member of our family 
 dying of that disease." 
 
 " People do exaggerate so terribly," 
 murmurs Lady Gwynne, already heartily 
 ashamed that she has alluded to the 
 subject. 
 
 " As for myself, I believe there has 
 seldom been a stronger man than I am, or 
 one more capable of enduring fatigue. 
 Thinness is no proof of debility, and it 
 would require the constitution of a horse 
 to go through what I went through last 
 season." 
 
 " But you knocked up under it !" she 
 answers quickly. 
 
 " Yes ! but more from the effects of men- 
 tal, than physical exertion. Partly also 
 from worry. As Mrs. Hassell appears to
 
 158 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 be so conversant with my family diseases, 
 she may also have proved competent to en- 
 lighten you concerning my private affairs." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Slade ! pray don't mention it ; 
 it is no concern of mine." 
 
 " Not if you could comfort me !" 
 
 " That is out of my power." 
 
 " I am not so sure of it. Oh ! Lady 
 Gwynne, if you knew how during the last 
 few months I have longed for a sympathetic 
 heart to which I could tell the troubles of 
 my own, you would not be so quick, per- 
 haps, to say you cannot comfort me." 
 
 " But your mother ! — your sisters — you 
 have them." 
 
 " My mother ! my sisters !" with a most 
 uncomplimentary emphasis on each term — 
 " Lady Gwynne ! if you had seen my 
 mother and sisters only once, you would 
 never have made that suggestion ! Mind ! 
 I don't want to say anything against them ;
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 159 
 
 they are most excellent women in their 
 way ; but as for going and telling them 
 
 about my love affairs Well ! You have 
 
 not seen them, and that is your only 
 excuse." 
 
 " Then it was a love affair," says Lady 
 G wynne, as she digs the point of her gar- 
 den parasol deep into the turf. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! All the world knows that ! 
 She was so beautiful I" (warming with his 
 subject) " no man who saw her, hardly could 
 have helped loving her. Lady Mary St. 
 Maur ! — you must have seen her photo- 
 graph surely, in the shop- windows in town." 
 
 " I don't remember that I observed it ; 
 but I know the name, of course. She 
 attended the same Drawing-room as myself 
 this year." 
 
 " Did you see her ?" eagerly. 
 
 "No! I didn't "—coldly ; but Auberon 
 Slade is too engrossed to see the coldness.
 
 160 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " Oh ! she is a most glorious creature ; 
 with big blue eyes and a perfect veil of 
 golden hair — and the richest colouring — 
 more like a goddess than a woman ; — and 
 when she first led me on to believe she cared 
 for me, I could not think it possible such 
 good fortune could be mine/' 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 " Well !" — (with a deep sigh) — " the end- 
 ing of it is no secret. I suppose she was 
 either too young to know her own mind, or 
 she grew tired of me ; but our engagement 
 was broken off in a month." 
 
 " Too young to know her own mind — 
 why ! she was one-and-twenty in May ! 
 everybody can tell that from the Peer- 
 age," interrupts Lady Gwynne, scornfully. 
 Lenient as she is in general to the foibles 
 of her own sex, she cannot resist casting 
 this small stone at the supposed guilelessness 
 of Lady Mary St. Maur.
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 161 
 
 " Well, it little signifies — it comes all the 
 same to me in the end. She threw me over — 
 if that phrase pleases you better — and it is 
 small consolation to me to believe her not 
 free from blame. Because you see — I was 
 very fond of her." 
 
 There is so much simple pathos and 
 humility in this last confession, and the 
 voice sounds so unlike the debonnair, 
 " devil-may-care " voice of Auberon Slade, 
 that her tender womanly compassion is 
 aroused in his behalf; and the little un- 
 worthy jealousy re treats into the background. 
 
 " You suffered," she says softly. 
 
 " Suffered ! If you could have seen me 
 when I was at last convinced that all was 
 over between us, you would indeed say that 
 I had suffered. I did not think it possible 
 that any one could suffer so much ! But I 
 have lived through it you see," — with a 
 careless laugh. 
 
 vol. i. 11
 
 162 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" The pitiful tones are 
 not so low but that he catches them. 
 
 " Oh ! how sweet it is to hear you say 
 that ! how very, very sweet to know that 
 some one feels for me ! If I could only 
 make you understand how passionately I 
 have longed for sympathy in this trial. " 
 
 "You will always have my sympathy, 
 Mr. Slade." 
 
 " I believe it ! — but I want more ; I want 
 your affection ! I want to know that I 
 have a friend who cares for me, into whose 
 bosom I may pour all my troubles without 
 reserve ; who will not get tired of me when 
 I am in the vein for talking, nor interpret 
 my silence as a lack of interest. Tell me, 
 Lady Gwynne ! Have I found such a 
 friend ? Is this the secret of the sympathy 
 between us ?" 
 
 " I believe that we are friends, and 
 
 yet "
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 163 
 
 " You think there may be danger in such 
 an intimacy. In some cases there might 
 be, but not in ours. We are above the 
 herd/' 
 
 " With us it will be soul to soul — and 
 nothing less," she whispers; 
 
 " And nothing less ! How like you to 
 say and ' nothing less.' An ordinary woman 
 would have said, and 'nothing more/ We 
 shall understand each other. I knew it 
 from the first." 
 
 " And you will have no secrets from 
 me T 
 
 11 None ! nor you from me ; though our 
 secrets promise to be very commonplace 
 henceforward. We are neither of us in the 
 first passionate flush of youth — for both of 
 us, happily perhaps, that time is past, 
 never to be recalled. And as for myself, I 
 tell you candidly it is impossible I should 
 ever love again as I have done. The power 
 
 1 1 - 2
 
 164 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 of feeling is dead in me ; and that is what 
 I meant, the evening that you read my 
 character, when I told you that I was a 
 cynic." 
 
 Why is there just the slightest shadow 
 of disappointment apparent in her quick 
 retort ? 
 
 " Of course ! and so much the better, as 
 you say, for both of us, that it should be so. 
 Love seldom brings anything but trouble in 
 this world." 
 
 " You are right ! There is no love to be 
 compared to a true and honest friendship. 
 I cannot tell you how much happier I feel 
 since I have spoken to you about this 
 trouble. Your sympathy seems to have 
 lightened my breast of half its load. That 
 is the penalty you will have to pay for my 
 confidence. You must bear half my troubles 
 for me." 
 
 How she smiles upon his upturned face !
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 165 
 
 "And so I will, most gladly. But have 
 you really never spoken to anyone of this 
 before ?" 
 
 "Never! I do not know anyone but 
 yourself to whom I would speak of it." 
 
 " But you know very little of me," 
 shyly ; " how can you tell that I am trust- 
 worthy V 
 
 " I will take it on credit. I was certain 
 
 from the first hour I met you, that we 
 should be friends, and that your friendship 
 would be such an enjoyment to me as I 
 have never experienced in this world before. 
 A true affection, without passion, and with- 
 out reserve — what feeling on this earth can 
 equal it? It is not of this earth, it is a 
 foretaste of heaven ! Oh, Lady Gwynne, 
 you have made me feel so proud, so happy, 
 to possess the assurance of your sympathy, 
 and the hope of being admitted to your 
 confidence."
 
 16G THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " It is I that should be proud," she an- 
 swers, " to think that such a man as you, 
 who have exchanged ideas with some of the 
 profoundest intellects in Europe, should 
 choose a simple woman like myself to 
 be the depositary of your most private 
 thoughts." 
 
 " The marvel is, that you should take 
 the trouble to be interested in them. I 
 shall work with twice as good a heart now, 
 when I remember that your eye will criti- 
 cise my verse, and correct the emanations 
 of my ungoverned spirit by the purer im- 
 pulses of your own." 
 
 " You expect too much from me." 
 
 " I expect you to be all that you have 
 promised — my guide, and counsellor, and 
 friend ! There is no such influence for the 
 benefit of man, as the influence of a high- 
 souled and right-minded woman. I wish 
 I could believe that I should never take
 
 ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP. 167 
 
 a step in the future that was not taken by 
 your advice, and sanctioned by your ap- 
 proval." 
 
 She has never been spoken to in this 
 manner by any one in the world before, 
 and her heart glows with a new and irre- 
 pressible delight, which her features take 
 no trouble to conceal. 
 
 "It is a settled thing, then, Lady 
 Gwynne, is it not V he says gaily, in con- 
 clusion. "We two have sworn eternal 
 friendship, which, being interpreted, means, 
 that you are to scold me whenever you 
 see a good opening for it, and I am not 
 to sit on the damp grass when you tell 
 me not." 
 
 " Oh, please don't allude to that any 
 more ; it was so silly of me." 
 
 " Dear Lady Gwynne, if you knew how 
 sweet your anxiety made you appear in 
 my eyes, you would not say so. Silly,
 
 168 TEE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 was it ? It is such silliness, my friend, 
 that makes me feel at the present mo- 
 ment as if I could never be unhappy in 
 this world again !"
 
 DANGEROUS CONFIDENCES. 169 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DANGEROUS CONFIDENCES. 
 
 nnHE first dressing-bell has sounded for 
 the Felton dinner, and yet Auberon 
 Slade, without making any attempt at pro- 
 gression in his toilet, leans idly from his 
 bedroom window, thinking over the conver- 
 sation he has just held with LadyGwynne. 
 He feels so happy and light hearted in the 
 retrospection of it, that he is astonished at 
 himself. It is chiefly his vanity that is 
 excited by her condescension and evident 
 approval, but he confuses the feeling with 
 another, greater, if more reprehensible ;
 
 170 THE PllEY OF THE GODS. 
 
 and his heart flutters beneath the pleasing 
 consciousness of having had the power to 
 awaken a reciprocal feeling in the heart 
 of a woman, as incapable of immodesty as 
 she would be of deception. ' 
 
 But Auberon Slade is a man of the 
 world, who has mixed much with men and 
 women, and noted the innumerable little 
 means by which, when in pursuit of plea- 
 sure, they strive to silence the whispers of 
 their conscience. He has no belief in what 
 is called platonic affection ; and in the 
 midst of his exultation a troubled doubt 
 creeps every now and then across his mind, 
 as he cannot divest it of the notion that he 
 is on the road to fall in love with Lady 
 Gwvnne, and wonders to himself how it 
 will all end. No thought of possible future 
 guilt annoys him, for his love is yet too 
 young and pure, not to be held sacred even 
 by the lowest portion of his nature ; but
 
 DANGEROUS CONFIDENCES. m 
 
 he foresees trouble, and perplexity — per- 
 haps a bitter sorrow — and yet he has not 
 strength of mind to fly whilst there is 
 time. 
 
 "She is too good," he muses, "too in- 
 nocent (absurdly innocent indeed for a 
 woman of her age), to dream of any evil 
 consequence arising from our friendship ; 
 and whilst her suspicions sleep, I can hold 
 even my thoughts in check. A look of 
 consciousness from her eyes would be a 
 spark to , kindle the whole train, and blow 
 us — heaven knows where. But the powers 
 of hell themselves would shrink abashed 
 before so pure a gaze as hers. Her fear- 
 lessness of harm, her perfect trust in me, 
 must prove her safeguard; and in her 
 position as a married woman she is as 
 sacred in my eyes as I should wish my wife 
 to be in those of other men. Ah ! if Fate 
 had only allotted such a woman to me, so
 
 172 THE PREY OF TEE GOBS. 
 
 gay of heart and deep in feeling, so bold to 
 censure and quick to understand, I might 
 have been a very different fellow to what 
 I am. Well ! it's no use thinking about 
 it," with a sigh ; " she's not mine, and she 
 never will be — the world is full of such 
 cross purposes — and I must be thankful to 
 have such a woman for my friend. It is 
 not every man that can say as much as 
 that/' 
 
 But here the clanging of the second 
 dinner bell startles Auberon Slade from his 
 reverie, into the conviction that he has not 
 yet commenced to dress, and must send 
 down an apology to Lady Gwynne to 
 account for the delay in his appearance. 
 
 Meanwhile, very different thoughts have 
 been coursing through the mind of the 
 other contractor of this new bond of 
 friendship. She also has been light-
 
 DANGEROUS CONFIDENCES. 173 
 
 hearted upon retrospection, singing, gaily, 
 and smiling to herself with secret satisfac- 
 tion. But no doubts have mingled with 
 her joy, or they would have dispersed it. 
 Her light- heartedness has been the light- 
 heartedness of a child, for Auberon Slade 
 does her no less than justice in his estima- 
 tion of her purity of spirit and intention. 
 Lady Gwynne is essentially an innocent 
 woman — innocent, not because of her igno- 
 rance, for she is perfectly well aware that 
 this world's heritage is sin and shame, and 
 that to err is not the exception, but the 
 rule. But she is guileless with respect to 
 fearing, or even contemplating, such a des- 
 tiny for herself. Other women may go 
 wrong — God pity and forgive them ! — but 
 she, the wife of an easy-going husband, the 
 mother of such a treasure as Daisy ! that 
 she could ever be led astray, or even look
 
 174 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 upon another man with any feeling but 
 that of the purest friendship, would be an 
 incomprehensibility to her ; a thing not to 
 be understood ; to try to understand which 
 would be a species of disloyalty to the 
 man she had sworn to keep to, and to 
 honour. 
 
 She is blinder than Auberon Slade in 
 this respect, but her blindness renders her 
 less culpable. He, seeing the possible 
 danger, attempts to brave it ; she treads a 
 path which inexperience causes her to re- 
 gard as safe. They both trust to them- 
 selves too much, and to heaven too little, 
 but they trust in different ways. 
 
 As to my heroine, at this juncture, she 
 has no idea, but that what Auberon Slade 
 has offered to her, she is free and able to 
 accept, — an honest friendship ! 
 
 Has he not told her, that from his hands 
 she has nothing to fear ? And so closely,
 
 DAXGERO US CONFIDENC ES. 1 76 
 
 though unknowingly, has he already 
 wound himself about her heart, that she 
 is ready, even now, to trust him to the 
 death. 
 
 Ah ! how often does love thus creep 
 on us unawares, beneath the subtle 
 guise of an interest, too pure to rouse 
 alarm ! 
 
 Lady Gwynne is very happy ; she does 
 not trouble her head about the future, the 
 present enjoyment is enough for her ; nor 
 does she even stop to question why this 
 sudden friendship should make her life 
 seem brighter than it has ever done before. 
 To know he thinks her worthy of his con- 
 fidence : that he cares for her approval 
 and advice ; and her affection makes his 
 troubles less unbearable, is all sufficient for 
 a great content ; and she revels in it as 
 a flower in the sunshine. 
 
 She has unexpectedly been brought face
 
 176 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 to face with a congenial spirit, and she 
 feels as though existence had commenced 
 afresh for her. 
 
 " Soul to soul — and nothing less." Oh, 
 the delight, — the ecstacy of knowing that 
 she has a second soul who can understand 
 the workings of her own, and lead it on 
 with each renewal of their intercourse, to 
 higher and to better things. For so, in 
 her humility, she confidently believes that 
 Auberon Slade is capable of leading her. 
 And then she dons her most becoming robe 
 for the edification of her second soul, and 
 descends to the dining-room, flushed and 
 triumphant as a young girl to meet her 
 lover ; more so, indeed, for the one is 
 about to commence a journey, the charms 
 of which she only knows by hearsay, 
 whilst the other is like a traveller, who 
 having long trod the barren, dreary desert, 
 suddenly comes in sight of a fair city,
 
 DANGEROUS CONFIDENCES. 177 
 
 replete with all the luxuries he has so often 
 sighed for, but never yet obtained. 
 
 Her gaiety continues throughout the 
 evening, and for many evenings afterwards, 
 for every interview she has with Auberon 
 Slade renews it. The glance of intelli- 
 gence he interchanges with her, when any 
 allusion is made in public to those subjects 
 which appeal to them most nearly : the 
 peeps their conversations give her, of his 
 home pursuits and former life, that life of 
 which she now so much regrets she knows 
 so little : the private history of the rise 
 and progress of each poem, which he has 
 never confided to any ear before her own : 
 all these things, small in themselves, but 
 great links in the chapter of their unfortu- 
 nate attachment, draw this woman and 
 this man nearer together, day by day. 
 
 And then their talks about the glorious 
 career which seems to lie before him in 
 
 VOL. T. 12
 
 178 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 the future : those talks in which she speaks 
 so seriously about his want of perseve- 
 rance, and his self-esteem ; taking him to 
 task with so much gentle love of him, and 
 pride in his ability, and yet with such a 
 profound sense of her own responsibility in 
 being promoted to the post of counsellor, 
 that she seems more like a mother reprov- 
 ing her son, than one equal talking to 
 another. 
 
 But while he laughs at her remon- 
 strances, they sink into his heart, and 
 bring forth fruit days afterwards, when hers 
 is broken. 
 
 It is about this time that he draws from 
 her all the particulars of her marriage with 
 Sir Lyster Gwynne. They are strolling in 
 the shrubberies together after dinner, most 
 of the company being scattered about the 
 grounds of Felton Hall ; but these two, by 
 some strange fatality, have departed from
 
 DANGEROUS CONFIDENCES. 17<> 
 
 the rest, and find themselves alone, with 
 no more dangerous listeners to their con- 
 versation than the night-blowing flowers 
 and the couchant birds. 
 
 " Now I want to hear all about Sir 
 Lyster and yourself," says Auberon Slade, 
 as hand in hand they wander down the 
 dusky paths ; " where^you >met him : how 
 soon you fell in love : and how long you 
 were engaged." 
 
 " I assure you there is nothing to relate," 
 she replies, indifferently ; " the tale would 
 be most commonplace." 
 
 " But it will possess interest for me ; 
 everything 'that concerns you, does. I 
 should like to know every particular of 
 your former life : where you were born, 
 and how they mixed your pap, and where 
 you went to school, and how many times 
 you were whipped " 
 
 " Oh ! Auberon I" 
 
 12- 2
 
 180 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " Don't you believe me, Gwendoline V' 
 They have come to call each other by 
 their Christian names, they hardly know- 
 how ; but as Mr. Slade insisted that he 
 never thought of her, and never had 
 thought of her as " Lady Gwynne," and 
 that when he said the words he did not 
 mean them, it seemed no worse that he 
 should be permitted to say what he did 
 mean — at all events, when they were by 
 themselves — as not to mean what he said. 
 And it required but a very little persuasion 
 to make her follow suit. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I believe you — with a few 
 reserves. But what can I say about my 
 marriage that will be interesting ? It was 
 such a quiet affair, and it took place so 
 long ago." 
 
 " How old were you at the time ?" 
 
 " Nearly sixteen." 
 
 " So young !"
 
 DANGEROUS CONFIDENCES. 181 
 
 " Yes, I was young ; but very tall for 
 my age. Well, if you really want to hear 
 about it, I will tell you, My father's name 
 was Griffiths, he was the incumbent of Ynys- 
 cedwyn, the place where most of Sir Lys- 
 ter's Welsh property is situated ; and I 
 lived all alone with him at the Vicarage, 
 and — oh ! I was so happy !" 
 
 She little thinks how the sigh she con- 
 secrates to the memory of the happy past 
 reveals the miserable contrast in the pre- 
 sent. 
 
 " You were his only child ¥' 
 
 " Yes ; my mother died soon after I was 
 born. I can't remember her, but I will 
 show you her miniature if you will remind 
 me of it. She looks so good and gentle. 
 I think life would have been very different 
 for me if she had lived." 
 
 And here comes another deep sigh. 
 
 " But your father ?"
 
 182 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " He died a few months before my mar- 
 riage/' 
 
 "Yon have not yet told me about 
 that." 
 
 " Sir Lyster nsed to come down occa- 
 sionally to look after his property," she 
 goes on hurriedly ; "and as my father was 
 the only gentleman resident in Ynys- 
 cedwyn, they naturally saw a great deal 
 of one another, and of me — and after a 
 while Sir Lyster told my father he wanted 
 to marry me." 
 
 " But I thought your father died first." 
 
 " Yes, so he did ; because I wasn't en- 
 gaged just then. I couldn't make up my 
 mind at first ; I had seen so little of the 
 world, you know. But it vexed my poor 
 father sadly — my indecision did, I mean — 
 and when he died, I was so miserable I 
 didn't seem to care what became of me, 
 and so "
 
 DANGEROUS CONFIDENCES. 183 
 
 " And so you sacrificed yourself," says 
 Auberon Slade, indignantly. 
 
 Lady Gwynne glances up at him, open- 
 ing her eyes almost as though she were 
 but just aroused from sleep ; her pride is 
 touched ; she sees that she has gone too 
 far. 
 
 "You quite misunderstand me," she 
 
 answers quickly ; " there was no one to 
 
 compel, not even to persuade me to marry 
 
 Sir Lyster. I did it of my own free 
 
 choice." 
 
 " Yes V incredulously. 
 
 " Yes I" with a little stamp of her foot. 
 "It is not fair of you, Auberon, to try 
 and misconstrue my meaning." 
 
 " My dear Gwendoline ! I have no wish 
 to misconstrue it, my greatest desire is to 
 believe you happy. Well ! you found you 
 were in love with Sir Lyster — let me hear 
 the end of it."
 
 184 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 But his words seem to provoke more 
 indignation than they are worth. 
 
 " Oh ! how can you be so cruel, so unkind 
 to me ; you must guess how it all happened. 
 My father died, and left me penniless ; and 
 I was so young and ignorant of the world, 
 I thought there never could be greater hap- 
 piness for me than complying with his last 
 wishes. Besides Sir Lyster was very kind 
 to me — as he always has been since," — after 
 a short pause. 
 
 " Well, then, you are perfectly happy, 
 and there's an end of it,' ; says Auberon 
 Slade. 
 
 " There is no need for any of my friends 
 to pity me," she answers, gravely. 
 
 "I see there is not. You love your 
 husband, have a promising child, a high 
 station in society, and a luxurious home. 
 I for one, think you are a very lucky woman. 
 There are not many marriages, entered into
 
 DANGEEOCS CONFIDENCES. 185 
 
 so early in life as yours, that turn out as 
 well." 
 
 But to this remark he receives no reply. 
 
 " You have made me quite envious/' he 
 goes on presently, " drawing such a picture 
 of domestic happiness. You should have 
 more consideration for my bachelor lone- 
 liness, Gwendoline." 
 
 But here he stops short, for his companion 
 has sunk upon a bench near at hand, and 
 he can hear, from the quick drawing of her 
 breath, that she is weeping. 
 
 What man can stand the sight or sound 
 of tears from the woman whom he loves ? 
 They torture him : he is not master of him- 
 self whilst they remain. 
 
 " Gwendoline ! my poor Gwendoline !" 
 cries Auberon Slade, as he takes a seat 
 upon the bench beside her. 
 
 His arm is round her waist, his hand 
 warmly pressed upon her own ; in the dim
 
 186 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 twilight lie kisses her, not passionately or 
 so as to make her fear, but calmly, almost 
 reverentially, upon her smooth forehead 
 and wet cheeks. Yet the colour flies to 
 her face ; he feels the blood mount, hot 
 and throbbing, beneath the impress of his 
 lips. 
 
 " No ! Auberou, no !" she says reproach- 
 fully, as, disengaging herself from his clasp, 
 she tries to rise to her feet. But he pre- 
 vents her. 
 
 " Why should you shrink from me, 
 dearest ? Have you not promised to. regard 
 me as a brother, and am I to be denied the 
 comfort of consoling you as though you 
 were my sister ? Come, Gwendoline ! sit 
 down again, and believe that my affection 
 for you is too sincere, to permit me to repeat 
 any act by which I have had the misfor- 
 tune to offend you I" 
 
 " Oh, Auberon ! I am not offended."
 
 DANGEROUS CONFIDENCES. 187 
 
 " Prove it then by unburdening your 
 heart to me ; it will be as light again when 
 I have shared its troubles. Dearest ! you 
 can tell me nothing 1 new ! I know that 
 you are not happy in your married life." 
 
 And in the twilight, with her hand 
 locked in his, and believing that if she had 
 a brother she should feel just so towards 
 him, she tells him all.
 
 188 TEE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 
 
 "OUT where, all this time, the curious 
 may inquire, are the eyes of Sir Lyster 
 Gwynne ? 
 
 They are in their usual place, and busy 
 at their usual occupation ; which is, pass- 
 ing over matters of real importance to his 
 friends, to magnify the least trifle that 
 affects himself ; for if the character of Sir 
 Lyster Gwynne has not already made 
 itself apparent in these pages, it may be 
 summed up here in a few words. He is 
 selfish, has been so from his cradle, and
 
 A FA TAL DISCO VER V. 1 89 
 
 will be so to his grave ; and it is wonder- 
 ful, on close inspection, how few lives are 
 not so ; and this selfishness blinds his eyes 
 to the feelings of everyone except himself, 
 and even prevents his being jealous. 
 
 He loves his wife, after a fashion ; that 
 is, whilst she gives in to him in everything 
 (and Lady Gwynne's training commenced 
 so early, and has continued so long, that it 
 is an exceptional case when she is not both 
 good and gentle with her husband) ; but 
 let her oppose him in the smallest matter, 
 by making an appointment that crosses 
 with his plans, or keeping him waiting five 
 minutes for his dinner, or going to church 
 when he wishes her to ride on horseback, 
 and she is made to remember it for days 
 afterwards, by the alteration in his de- 
 meanour. For Sir Lyster is sulky as well 
 
 as selfish, the two qualities usually going 
 together.
 
 190 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 So long as Lady Gwynne's intimacy with 
 Auberon Slade does not clash with the 
 baronet's meals or other comforts, he will 
 not see it, or seeing, interfere ; for he is too 
 sure of himself, of his position, and his 
 wife's docility, to believe it possible that 
 she would dare to play him false, for the 
 sake of the fairest face, or proudest intellect 
 that ever graced this earth. 
 
 Other men's wives may bring them to 
 shame (and to hear Sir Lyster discuss 
 women over his wine is to impress one with 
 the idea that he does not believe in the 
 fidelity of any of the sex), but that his 
 wife ; the woman he has honoured with his 
 hand ; on whom he has bestowed one of the 
 oldest titles in England ; that Lady Gwynne 
 should presume even to imagine another 
 man preferable to himself, does not enter 
 into his calculations ; it is a possibility he 
 has never taken the trouble to think about ;
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 19! 
 
 it would be lost labour ; it is a thing simply 
 that could not be. 
 
 And should Sir Lyster Gwynne ever 
 have the misfortune to be dragged into the 
 Divorce Court, I doubt not that this ap- 
 parently amiable quality in his disposition, 
 this perfect trust, and incredulity of wrong, 
 will be made good use of by his counsel, 
 and brought forward as an additional proof 
 of the worthlessness of those who could 
 betray him. Such comments have been 
 passed in that court before now, on con- 
 duct, which so handled, may seem blame- 
 less ; but which, if impartially sifted, would 
 shine forth in its true colours, as a specimen 
 of the grossest selfishness, and neglect of 
 the duties which a man takes upon him- 
 self, when he swears before God's altar 
 to protect and cherish a woman until 
 death. 
 
 But if Sir Lyster's self-bound eyes are
 
 192 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 incapable of perceiving the danger of so 
 continued and intimate an intercourse 
 between his young wife and a fascinating 
 clever man like Auberon Slade, others are 
 not so blind. 
 
 The little world of Felton Hall, copying 
 the big world in this particular, discusses 
 the fact freely, and puts the very worst 
 construction upon all its bearings. 
 
 They do not dare allude to the subject 
 before Auberon Slade, but in his absence 
 their comments, which are, perhaps, less 
 censorial than envious, pass without reserve, 
 and as is usual in such cases, the opinions 
 as to the probable upshot of his friendship 
 with their hostess, are almost unanimous. 
 
 It is so seldom that men believe it pos- 
 sible that a woman can go half-way to her 
 destruction, and there, scared at what must 
 follow, stop short, and with many tears re- 
 trace her steps. With them, if she offend
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 19:3 
 
 in one tittle of the law, she must be guilty 
 of all ; they little think, how many, whom 
 they, perhaps, respect and honour, have re- 
 traced in like manner their weary path. 
 And who are they to censure ? They, who 
 scarcely with one exception, have gone the 
 whole way ; and expect, on their return, to 
 be received with open arms. 
 
 Prodigals, who have filled their bellies 
 with the husks that the swine . refuse to 
 eat, and yet demand to be clothed with the 
 robe of purity, and to have the ring of faith 
 placed on their hand. 
 
 The men at Felton Hall, who do not 
 know Gwendoline Gwynne, wish that they 
 had a few thousands laid upon the issue of 
 her intimacy with Auberon Slade. The 
 men who do know her, to wit, Major 
 Calvert and Mr. Lawrence, look very grave 
 when the subject is mentioned, and think 
 of it for many hours afterwards. 
 
 vol. I. 13
 
 194 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 Calvert pulls his long moustache, and 
 wishes to Heaven that Slade would go 
 back to town, or that he had the moral 
 courage to risk a quarrel with him by 
 entreating him not to abuse the hospitality 
 he has shown no hesitation in accepting ; 
 but Mr. Lawrence, who has been the true 
 friend of Lady Gwynne for many years past, 
 watches her closely, with the firm resolution 
 to speak out boldly as soon as he shall have 
 a reasonable excuse for doing so. 
 
 The one may be anxious for her worldly 
 reputation, but the other is trembling for 
 her soul. 
 
 Meanwhile the object of their solicitude, 
 as though no pit were yawning for her un- 
 suspecting feet, goes on her way rejoicing. 
 Yes ! literally rejoicing ; for, although she 
 has not yet stooped to recognise them, the 
 flowers of love are springing all about her 
 path, and no wretched doubts have intruded
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 195 
 
 themselves to mar the perfect serenity of 
 her late-found heaven. 
 
 She wakes each morning to a sense of 
 new and ever-increasing happiness, for she 
 is about to meet him. She lies down to 
 rest each night, calm and satisfied, beneath 
 the knowledge that with the morning, joy 
 will return. 
 
 No hot and restless dreams disturb her 
 slumbers as they do his ; she sleeps like an 
 innocent child, too full of content with the 
 present to wish for greater pleasures in the 
 future. 
 
 If she is troubled, vexed, or worried with 
 the day's occurrences, she flies to Auberon 
 Slade for consolation. If she is pleased, 
 she seeks him still, that he may share her 
 pleasure. 
 
 She reads his manuscripts, suggests ideas 
 to him ; even attempts, beneath his super- 
 vision to string ideas together for herself; 
 
 13—2
 
 196 THE PREY OF TEE GODS. 
 
 and does it all unconsciously, without a 
 notion that the scales will ever fall from 
 their eyes, and they shall look other to each 
 other than they do ; until one fatal morning 
 she taps at the door of his sitting-room and 
 entering, finds it is deserted. 
 
 It is a day on which he has decided to 
 
 give the partridges a holiday (for Auberon 
 
 Slade's love of sport has waxed rather cold 
 
 of late) and his books and papers are loosely 
 
 scattered on the table, bearing evidence 
 
 that it is not long since he has quitted them. 
 
 Lady Gwynne advances boldly into the 
 
 room and sits down in the poet's chair, for 
 
 the friends have grown so familiar with 
 
 each other by this time, that he will not be 
 
 surprised on his return, to find her waiting 
 
 for him. 
 
 But her attention is soon arrested by the 
 sheet of foolscap paper which is spread out 
 before her ; the record evidently of Auberon
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 197 
 
 Slades latest thought, since the ink 
 with which he has scribbled them is 
 scarcely dry. 
 
 Lady Gwynne takes up the paper eagerly; 
 she is always proud to read what he has 
 written, however hastily it may have been 
 transcribed ; but as she peruses this, her 
 eyes dilate — her colour quickens — and she 
 forgets to criticise in the deep interest the 
 words awaken — 
 
 *" I give up all for thee ! I strive no more 
 To conquer an inexorable fate, 
 Or laugh at love that seems to come too late, 
 For I am fond no longer — I adore ! 
 
 " Oh ! idol of my worship, far too fair 
 
 In the great soul that flashes from thine eyes, 
 I triumph that I win so great a prize, 
 I tremble ! when I think how much I dare. 
 
 " For a vast gulph yet yawns 'twixt thee and me, 
 Which God's set laws forbid us both to span : 
 Love dimmed our eyes when first our love began, 
 With happy tears that would not let us see ! 
 
 * The author wishes to acknowledge the obligation 
 under which she lies for the following verges to the pen of a 
 literary friend.
 
 198 THE PREY OE THE GODS. 
 
 " The same love dries them now, and we behold 
 The solemn finger pointing out the warning, 
 Sweet if the night be, ah ! beware the morning, 
 Lest horrors curse the loves that both enfold ! 
 
 " Oh ! I have dreamed of love, but never known, 
 The wondrous glories that I welcome now ! 
 The pain and sorrow written on thy brow 
 A strange, new, other life to me have shown ! 
 
 (< 
 
 For, from the fires of suffering thou hast come 
 A well tried angel to my lonely heart ; 
 I thank thee that thou bidst me take my part ; 
 
 And gild the shadows of thy darker home. 
 
 " Can love be curst where love has so much blest ? 
 Can heart be foul where heart can purify ? 
 Oh ! if it be so — Let us rather die, 
 And love where perfect spirits are at rest ! 
 
 " But not in vain our hearts have sorely bled, 
 
 And groaned through all this wilderness of fate, 
 The cloud has light behind it, Darling wait ! 
 And strength through weakness shall be perfected ! 
 
 " Then draw me closer, closer to thee, dear, 
 
 Do what we will, thy fate and mine are fixed, 
 My life and thine, inevitably mixed, 
 We take our destiny and do not fear. 
 
 " Yes ! all of self has sweetly died in me, 
 Thy noble heart is beating in my breast, 
 No one shall steal it now ! There let it rest, 
 And know, dear love, that I am lost in thee." 
 
 * * * * *
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 199 
 
 She reads these verses over, one — two — 
 three times ; and then, as the full meaning 
 of them, and of all it discloses to her, bursts 
 upon her mind, a feeling of suffocation over- 
 powers her ; the room turns round ; it seems 
 as though she could not breathe ; and 
 still holding the paper in her hand, she 
 rises, almost unconsciously, to her feet, 
 and stands by the table, grasping one 
 corner of it with fierce energy in the vain 
 attempt to steady thus her trembling 
 limbs. 
 
 Her eyes are open now ; she can no 
 longer close them to the truth, nor pretend 
 to mistake the feeling with which Auberon 
 • Slade regards her — with which she regards 
 him in return — for, with the conviction of his 
 love, there comes the knowledge- — heralded 
 by a bright hot blush of passionate pleasure 
 — that she loves him too ; and happy, 
 grateful tears, whose course is directed by
 
 200 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 the curved channels of her smiling mouth, 
 run down the woman's face. 
 
 " Happy, grateful I" I seem to hear some 
 voices cry — " when the creature should have 
 been overwhelmed by shame and misery ! 
 What sort of heroine is this for whom our 
 sympathy is demanded ¥' 
 
 Patience ! dear Moralists ! the " creature" 
 shall be as miserable as ever your rigid 
 virtue could desire before long ! do not 
 grudge her, her short hour of triumph now ! 
 It is nature that prompts her to glory in the 
 knowledge that she has gained her lover ; 
 and nature will be the direst avenger of 
 her weakness when she has resigned him. 
 
 A quick, short footstep ; a beam of sun- 
 shine entering the room ; a familiar hand 
 laid on her shoulder, and the voice of her 
 Fate sounds in her ear again. 
 
 "Well! thief! rifling my possessions as 
 usual ! What business have you to come
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 201 
 
 and make all this disturbance amongst my 
 papers. Who gave you leave ? Was ever 
 such a woman ?" 
 
 She does not answer him, but the shoulder 
 upon which he leans is not quite steady, and 
 the paper in her hand is fluttering. 
 
 " What have you got there ? Oh ! — 
 that ! Well 1" — after a brief pause, and in 
 a lowered voice, " What do you think of it?" 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " Cannot your heart prompt you, Gwen- 
 doline r 
 
 " Oh ! Auberon ! I never thought — I 
 never dreamt — that it could come to this I" 
 
 " What a short-sighted mortal you must 
 be then !" 
 
 " Am I r 
 
 It seems as though she could not speak 
 except in monosyllables ; the idea still so 
 wonderful — so new — to her, that after each 
 contemplation of it, she relapses into the
 
 202 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 same sort of hazy dream. But his voice 
 rouses her again. 
 
 " You are not angry with me, darling V 
 
 " Angry ! — oh ! Auberon ! — " and then 
 she turns and their eyes meet, and for the 
 first time feed upon each other s fire ; 
 searching far, far down into unfathomable 
 depths, until the hot blood mounts to either 
 face, and their spirits rush together and 
 are one. 
 
 And then she closes her eyes, and leans 
 weakly back against the table ; whilst with 
 a deep-drawn sigh he turns away, and 
 walks to the further end of the apartment. 
 
 But after a moment, Lady Gwynne re- 
 covers herself, and her spirit of mischief is 
 in the ascendant. 
 
 "What about Lady Mary St. Mauri" 
 she says slyly. 
 
 "Dash Lady Mary St. Maur," is the 
 impatient reply of Auberon Slade, as he
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 203 
 
 returns to her side. " Do you imagine that 
 I am going to waste my time fretting after 
 an arrant coquette, who must have deceived 
 me from the very first ? No, Gwendoline ! 
 the woman who holds me must be the 
 woman who loves me ! though I doubt 
 whether I should have been able to avoid 
 falling in love with you, if you had cared 
 for me or not. You are a very witch, and 
 I was your victim from the first moment 
 that I saw you I" 
 
 " But how do you know I care for 
 you V 
 
 " It would be useless to deny it. I read 
 the blessed truth in every look and tone 
 and gesture." 
 
 " Why ! what a fool I must be, then, to 
 give the world so false an impression of my 
 feelings I" 
 
 She speaks in jest, but he answers her as 
 though she were in earnest.
 
 204 THE PREY OF TEE GODS. 
 
 " Don't say that, Gwendoline ! If you 
 only knew how much it pains me ! I can- 
 not bear a doubt thrown on my entire be- 
 lief in your affection for me." 
 
 " It cannot be of so much moment ta 
 you as all that 1" 
 
 "It is all the moment in the world to 
 me. It is my life, my everything ! Oh, 
 darling ! if you only knew how much I love 
 you ; how my soul is welded with your own ; 
 how I exist but in your living, and should 
 die were you to cease to care for me ; you 
 would not dare to jest on such a subject. 
 Gwendoline, like many other men, I have 
 wasted my affections upon a dozen frivolous 
 attachments, but I have never yet given 
 myself away, heart, body, and soul, to one 
 woman, as I do now to you. I swear it ! 
 Won't you believe me V 
 
 She does not answer — but she turns 
 upon him eyes, full of a new tremulous
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 205 
 
 light, which say more than it would be 
 in the power of her tongue to express. 
 She has never had such an avowal made to 
 her before ; (remember that, you who 
 would too quickly condemn her short lived 
 happiness) she has never heard such words, 
 nor felt such deep emotion, nor deemed it 
 possible that such a love existed, excepting 
 in the absinthe-heated imaginations of ro- 
 mance-writers. 
 
 And the knowledge that it is hers, and 
 Auberon Slade's the hand to hold it to her, 
 is , almost too much to bear ; and, hardly 
 sensible of what she does, she puts him 
 feebly from her, and turns her face away. 
 
 "Gwendoline, don't. do that, for heavens 
 sake ! Tell me that I am not mistaken, 
 that you have not been playing with me as 
 she did — or I shall go mad !" 
 
 He pulls her almost roughly by the dress, 
 he forces her to turn and look at him, he
 
 206 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 extracts her answer by a determined and 
 commanding manner — an assumption of 
 superiority, the first exercise of the yoke 
 she loves to feel upon her. 
 
 " I will be answered, Gwendoline ; I 
 demand it as a right ! Child, have pity 
 on me, and put me out of my sus- 
 pense ." 
 
 The tone of supplication stirs her heart, 
 already far too full ; and the tender eyes 
 she bends upon him, are melting with 
 excess of love. 
 
 " You know I love you— that I have 
 loved you from the first, although I have 
 had no name in which to clothe the feel- 
 ings that possess me. My heart and soul 
 are yours, Auberon ; do with them as you 
 think best ! Henceforth you must be re- 
 sponsible for what I am." 
 
 He tries to hold her, but, with down- 
 cast looks and burning cheeks, she breaks
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 207 
 
 from him and rushes to the sofa. In 
 another moment he is seated by her 
 side. 
 
 " Gwendoline ! dearest ! Tell me that 
 again ! Say that you are mine ; that you 
 will he mine — now and for ever !" 
 
 He has her hand in his, his arm about 
 her waist, her whole figure lies in his 
 embrace. 
 
 " There is no choice in the matter, 
 Auberon. Were I to cease to be yours, 
 or you to care for me, \ could not 
 live." 
 
 " My own I" — and the sunny locks come 
 nearer and nearer, until they rest upon her 
 bosom ; whilst the warm impassioned light 
 in the uplifted eyes burns into her very 
 soul. 
 
 Years afterwards, when that poor bosom 
 is as chill as death beneath the spirit's dis- 
 appointment, the remembrance of those
 
 -208 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 eyes, as she looked down upon them, will 
 have the power to kindle in it a ray of 
 temporary warmth. 
 
 " "lis better to have loved and lost, 
 Than never to have loved at all." 
 
 And who, in his senses, would exchange the 
 memory of dead delights, however bitter, 
 for the humiliating knowledge that the 
 common lot has passed him over ? 
 
 " Oh, my Grod ! my God I" she muses, 
 and not irreverently, as her heart pants be- 
 neath the weight of its dear burden ; and 
 with closed eyes she lays back her head 
 upon the sofa cushions, and believes that 
 so much happiness must kill her. " How 
 fair this world is ! how beautiful the gifts 
 with which Thou hast adorned Thy crea- 
 tures ! What have I done to deserve 
 so much felicity, such an illimitable bless- 
 ing, such a vast arena of bliss, as I inherit 
 in the possession of this love ! I cannot
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 209 
 
 contemplate it ; the very prospect takes 
 my breath away. I shall die beneath my 
 load of happiness. Oh, Auberon ! my 
 love ! my dearest, dearest love ! what can 
 I do to pay you back for all your goodness 
 to me V 
 
 She does not say this, but it runs through 
 her mind as she sits on the sofa, and when 
 a chance word rouses her from her reverie, 
 she starts up with a cry that is more of 
 pain than pleasure. 
 
 " Oh ! Auberon, Auberon ! don't tell me 
 again that you love me ; it is impossible — 
 I cannot believe it." 
 
 " You must believe it, darling !" raising 
 himself that he may see her face ; "it is 
 your fate and mine." 
 
 She looks at him ; her breath comes 
 hardly, her lips quiver, and the temptation 
 is too great to be resisted ; he raises his 
 own to meet them. 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 But the action appears to offend her, 
 for, like an arrow from a bow, she darts 
 from his side, and turns the handle of the 
 door. 
 
 " Unkind !" he says reproachfully. 
 
 At that word her steps are arrested, and 
 she lingers on the threshold, nervously 
 twistinsr the handle backwards and forwards, 
 and tracing out the pattern of the carpet 
 with her foot. 
 
 " Gwendoline !" 
 
 He speaks in a whisper ; but there is 
 something in the tone of his voice which 
 almost makes her heart stop. 
 
 She lifts her head, and sees him stand- 
 ing just where she has left him, holding out 
 his arms to her. 
 
 " Come to me, darling ! Don't leave me 
 like this, or vou will leave me wretched. 
 Here is your true home — here ! where your 
 heart is in safe keeping ; don't be afraid to
 
 A FATAL DISCOVERY. 211 
 
 let your lips seal the confession that they 
 themselves have made L" 
 
 She hesitates a moment, but only a mo- 
 ment : for that false courage which makes a 
 woman imagine that her sacrifice of self is 
 glorious only according to its completeness, 
 comes over her, and, with a cry, she turns 
 and runs back to the shelter of his breast. 
 He folds her to it ; he showers kisses upon 
 her lips, her cheeks, her forehead ; he calls 
 her by every endearing name that he can 
 think of; and she clings to him as though 
 in this world they were never again to be 
 separated, and is divinely happy. 
 
 But as they stand thus together, forget- 
 ting all the world except themselves, a 
 shriek runs through the house — a shriek 
 that reaches from attic to basement, followed 
 by a dull sound of something falling ; and 
 with eyes made wild by sudden horror, and 
 lips that have parched even as they lay 
 
 14—2
 
 212 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 against his own, Lady Gwynne disengages 
 herself from her lover's arms, and with the 
 hurried exclamation, — " My God ! it is 
 Daisy !" rushes from the apartment.
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE, 213 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 AT DAISYS SIDE. 
 
 rglHE maternal instinct is not at fault ; 
 for though the fell scream that rings 
 through Felton Hall is from the lips of a 
 passing domestic, the sight that occasions it 
 is the sight of Daisy, who (like an inveterate 
 hoyden as she is) has been riding on the 
 balustrades of the upper landing, and hav- 
 ing, in an evil moment, missed her balance, 
 fallen an unconscious heap upon the tessel- 
 lated pavement of the hall. 
 
 There she lies, white and senseless, look- 
 ing as though she were already released
 
 214 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 from the burden of life ; and when Auberon 
 Slade, who has followed Lady Gwynne as 
 quickly as he may, comes upon the scene, 
 of the whole group that has surrounded the 
 child's body, he finds the mother the only 
 one sufficiently collected to give any direc- 
 tion s. 
 
 Her cheek is indeed blanched, as though 
 the mortal agony had taken possession of 
 herself, and the fresh, rosy colour of the 
 lips, so lately pressed against his own, has 
 faded to a leaden hue ; but still her eye is 
 steadfast, and she speaks with calmness. 
 
 Cf Mr. Slade, will you help me to carry 
 her up to her bed ?" 
 
 He makes no answer, except by tenderly 
 lifting the child's body, and bearing it up- 
 stairs again — those stairs on which she had 
 been so gleefully playing when she met 
 with, what seems to the spectators, to be 
 her death.
 
 A T DAISY'S SIDE. 215 
 
 But as he lays her on her own cot, in her 
 mother's dressing-room, Lady Gwynne turns 
 to him again. 
 
 " I must have a doctor, and at once — 
 Dr. Stewart, of Willington. Will you see 
 that the messenger is dispatched V 
 
 " I will go myself, if you will let me." 
 
 " Oh, Auberon, do !" and a warm, grate- 
 ful light irradiates her sad eyes. "I shall 
 like to remember that you fetched him, 
 though it will be of no use. Oh ! my God !" 
 
 " Don't say that, Gwendoline ! — don't 
 think it ! Remember whilst there is life 
 there is hope." 
 
 " Sir Lyster should be told." 
 
 " I will send some one to find him. I 
 will do everything that is needful, if you 
 will promise me to keep your heart up." 
 
 " I will — for your sake — so long as it is 
 possible. And now go, pray go ! every 
 moment is of consequence."
 
 216 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 And so he leaves her, hanging tearless 
 and horror-struck over the unconscious 
 body of her child, whilst her attendants 
 cluster round and do all they can to per- 
 suade her that poor Daisy's fate is sealed. 
 
 He orders the fastest horse in the stables 
 to be saddled, and he rides as speedily as 
 it will carry him ; first down to the field 
 where he guesses Sir Lyster and his friends 
 will be discussing their luncheon, and then 
 (having communicated the bad news to the 
 father, who appears wonderfully unaffected 
 by it) to Willington to fetch the doctor ; 
 both places lying in the same direction. 
 He comes back, heated but triumphant, 
 having succeeded in bringing Dr. Stewart to 
 
 Felton Hall much sooner than he expected ; 
 but here follow several hours of miserable 
 suspense, in which he can neither gain 
 admittance to Lady Gwynne, nor hear 
 definite news of the child's condition, and
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 217 
 
 everybody seems to have forgotten that 
 by virtue of the exertion he has made on 
 their behalf, he is entitled to more consi- 
 deration from his host and hostess than the 
 rest of their guests. 
 
 The luncheon bell rings, but he has no 
 heart to go down into the dining-room ; 
 and the afternoon wears on, and the shadows 
 on the grass begin to lengthen, and still 
 Dr. Stewart and Lady Gwynne are closeted 
 together in the dressing-room ; and the only 
 answer he can obtain to his continuous 
 enquiries after Daisy's welfare is, that she 
 has not yet regained her consciousness. His 
 heart bleeds for Lady Gwynne, and all that 
 she is suffering ; but the morning's cloud, 
 however painful, has no power to obscure 
 the morning's exultation, and left to him- 
 self and the dominion of his own thoughts, 
 Auberon Slade is very excited and very 
 triumphant.
 
 218 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 He really loves this woman : loves her 
 with an amount of passion, mingled with 
 a purer and more lasting feeling, such as 
 astonishes himself; and he fully believes 
 that he has accomplished his destiny, and 
 reached the utmost tether of his capa- 
 bility for forming an attachment. It is 
 true that he does not see the end of it, 
 nor dare contemplate to what his avowal 
 of the morning may lead ; but he is will- 
 ing to leave all that, to what he calls 
 chance, and let events take their ordinary 
 course. 
 
 Meanwhile she loves him, and he loves 
 her ; and that fact is all-sufficient to render 
 him blissfully contented, and incapable of 
 doing any work for the remainder of the 
 day. 
 
 But is it possible, that the fact of her 
 being the wife of Sir Lyster Gwynne, and 
 the possession of her by himself — without
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 219 
 
 the commission of a gross crime and huge 
 dishonour — a simple impossibility, has no 
 power to disturb the man's serenity, and 
 turn his triumph into chagrin and disap- 
 pointment ? 
 
 Not at the moment ; for he has not yet 
 made up his mind to sully her purity, nor 
 use any base persuasions to make her quit 
 her present position in society ; he would 
 shrink with apparent horror from such 
 proposals made to him, and say that death 
 were preferable to seeing the woman whom 
 he loves, disgraced before the world — and 
 he would firmly believe that he meant all 
 he said. 
 
 Some scruples must pass through his 
 mind, however ; some twinges assail his 
 conscience ; as he remembers how her kisses 
 scorched his lips, and rendered him more 
 weak of purpose ; but if so, he dismisses 
 them with the false argument, that it is
 
 220 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 not so much his fault that matters have 
 come to such a crisis, as the fault of the 
 idiot, who, having secured so fascinating a 
 woman, can leave her (void of love and 
 tenderness and sympathy), exposed to the 
 attentions of a man like himself. 
 
 And as these thoughts course through 
 the mind of Auberon Slade, he looks with 
 considerable satisfaction at the fair, flushed 
 face, lighted up with the best of beauty, 
 the Beauty of Intellect, which the mirror 
 casts back upon him, and evinces no sweet 
 surprise born of humility, that Lady 
 Gwynne should have succumbed to him so 
 easily. 
 
 " Poor darling I" he murmurs — the very 
 adjective he uses being expressive of the 
 self-gratified state of his feelings — " to be 
 in the clutches of such a fool as Sir Lys- 
 ter ! How I wish it were in my power to 
 rescue her with credit to herself. There
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 221 
 
 is not much doubt whether I could make 
 her happy. Well, it is not every man 
 who could attract and secure, the love of 
 such a woman, and since I have gained 
 I shall take good care not to let it slip 
 again." 
 
 Between such flattering reveries as this, 
 and the task of opening his door to listen 
 or make enquiries, every time a footstep 
 passes by his chamber, the long afternoon 
 wears itself away for Auberon Slade, and 
 the cool of the evening sets in. Within 
 the sick room — which is on the same floor 
 as his own — with the exception of voices 
 in murmured converse, or an occasional 
 order whispered on the threshold, all 
 seems hushed as death ; and the only an- 
 swer the servants return to his questions 
 is, that — " Miss Daisy is as bad as bad 
 can be, and the parson has been sent for 
 to see their lady."
 
 222 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 And, indeed, as the great dinner-bell 
 clangs out harshly at its usual hour, and 
 Auberon Slade, anxious to meet and speak 
 with Sir Lyster on the condition of his 
 child, is, with some alacrity, descending 
 the principal staircase, he meets Mr. Law- 
 rence on his way up ; and the two men 
 stop and shake hands. 
 
 " I was sorry to hear that you had been 
 sent for," says Auberon Slade. " I am 
 afraid it means that matters are at their 
 worst." 
 
 " I hope not," rejoins the other, gravely ; 
 " although I agree with you that in most 
 cases of sickness, the appearance of the 
 priest is the forerunner of death. People 
 try doctors, physic, friends, everything 
 before the one thing needful, and it is 
 only when earthly aid fails them that 
 they have recourse to the consolations of 
 religion. I suppose it does not often strike
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 223 
 
 them that were they to try those first, they 
 might experience no need of the other." 
 
 At this address Auberon Slade twists 
 about uneasily, and can only murmur a 
 kind of congratulatory acquiescence. 
 
 " You are an old friend of Lady 
 Gwynne's, I believe, Mr. Lawrence ? You 
 have known her a long time ?" he says, at 
 last. 
 
 "A very long time, Mr. Slade. Long 
 enough to have earned the privilege to 
 speak openly to her, whenever I see any 
 cause to fear lest her generous, and kindly, 
 yet thoughtless inclination, should lead her 
 astray !" 
 
 " Oh, yes, — of course — a great privi- 
 lege, I am sure," replies his companion, 
 rendered unaccountably anxious by some 
 peculiar inflexion of the speaker's voice to 
 get away. "And so you really think 
 there is some hope for the poor child ?"
 
 224 THE PItEY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " I met Mr. Fuller, of Leighton, who 
 was sent for to consult with Dr. Stewart, 
 iust outside the gates, and he tells me 
 that she has opened her eyes and spoken, 
 and is evidently sensible. But she will 
 doubtless require great care for some days 
 to come, and I suppose it will be a con- 
 siderable time before the medical men will 
 be able to determine what amount of in- 
 jury she may not have caused herself." 
 
 " Poor Lady Gwynne ! How she must 
 be suffering \" 
 
 " I am sure she is ; but there must be 
 some good reason for the discipline. These 
 trials, apparently so unnecessary, do not 
 come to us by chance, Mr. Slade." 
 
 " I suppose not. Don't let me detain 
 you from her." 
 
 And the men separate for their respec- 
 tive destinations. 
 
 On entering the dining-room, Auberon
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 225 
 
 Slade is disgusted to find — the covers 
 having been removed — that everyone is 
 eating and talking with as good a will as 
 though no dark shadow hung over the 
 family of Gwynne ; Sir Lyster himself — 
 who at least might have been supposed in 
 some measure to feel the danger of his 
 only child — being the loudest talker, and 
 heartiest eater there. 
 
 " Come on, Slade !" he shouts, as our 
 hero makes his appearance on the threshold, 
 "we haven't cleared off everything yet; 
 but we shall if you don't make haste. 
 Where have you been hiding yourself all 
 the day, man ! We wanted you in the bil- 
 liard-room sadly this afternoon. Calvert 
 and I have a match on against Penryhn 
 and Lowder — for a pony — and there was 
 only little Jack Pinner to mark. Calvert 
 and I had scored fifty against their forty- 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 TEE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 five when the dinner-bell rang. We must 
 finish it this evening." 
 
 Auberon Slade disdains to evince any 
 interest in the proceedings of Sir Lyster. 
 
 " I am glad to hear your child is out of 
 danger/' he says, pointedly, as he slips into 
 his accustomed place at table. 
 
 " Out of danger ! of course she is. 
 Never was in any danger that I believe. 
 Children of that age are always bump- 
 ing themselves, and seldom the worse 
 for it." 
 
 " But it was a terrible fall. The conse- 
 quences might have°been very serious." 
 
 " Oh, yes, doubtless ! but there is a 
 long distance between what is, and what 
 might have been. (Penryhn, my dear 
 fellow, don t keep all the bottles to your- 
 self down at that end of the table, I im- 
 plore you !) And then Lady Gwynne, like 
 most women, always makes such a fuss-
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 227 
 
 over things — she'd have you believe that 
 every accident will end in death." 
 
 Auberon Slade cannot trust himself to 
 take up cudgels in her defence ; he only 
 throws an angry glance towards his uncon- 
 scious rival, and grows red as he bends 
 over his plate. But fat Lady Cleaver, who 
 oozes with the milk of human kindness, 
 tries to do the absent justice. 
 
 " I thought Lady Gwynne behaved ad- 
 mirably on this occasion," she interrupts 
 the discussion of her vol-au-vent to say. 
 " I am sure I never could have displayed 
 so much strength of mind, for the servants 
 were perfectly helpless, and so was the 
 governess ; and if it had not been for Lady 
 Gwynne's coolness and forethought, I 
 think we should all have gone out of our 
 minds." 
 
 " I have no doubt you would !" replies 
 Sir Lyster, with a look of intelligence to- 
 
 15—2
 
 22S THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 wards the rest of the company. But 
 Auberon Slade throws a grateful glance 
 upon her florid, inexpressive countenance, 
 and sees more beauty in it than he has 
 ever done before. 
 
 " Well, Lady trwynne has her consola- 
 tions," continues the host after a moment's 
 pause. " She has her doctor and her 
 parson, and what woman could want more. 
 Shell sit up till midnight discussing symp- 
 toms with the doctor, and talking prayers 
 with the parson, and go to bed under the 
 firm conviction that she is either a martyr 
 or a saint ! He ! he ! he 1" 
 
 " I was not aware that Lady Gwynne 
 was given to Methodism," remarks Calvert, 
 rather sarcastically. 
 
 " My dear boy, they're all given to it ! 
 Let them call themselves what they may — 
 High Church, Broad Church, Low Church, 
 or No Church — women invariably send for
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 229 
 
 the parson at the same time as the doctor, 
 determined, with their usual obstinacy, that 
 if they can't stay in this wicked world any 
 longer, they will at all events get a lift to 
 
 a better." 
 
 " I should think they were scarcely to 
 blame for that," says Auberon Slade 
 fiercely. 
 
 " Of course not ! who says they are, so 
 long as they don't insist upon my sharing 
 their devotions ! But you're a sentimental 
 fellow, Slade ; doesn't it make your mouth 
 water ? doesn't it make you wish you had 
 adopted either of the paying trades ? Why, 
 yours is a fool to it, man ! You can only 
 reach the women's ears through your 
 printed words ; whereas, if you'd but known 
 it, instead of sitting at this present moment 
 before a plate of venison (with which you 
 don't seem to be making much progress 
 in my opinion), you might have been in
 
 230 TEE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 Lady Gwynne's dressing-room, sprinkling 
 drops of eau-de-cologne on Daisy's forehead, 
 and drops of comfort in her mother's ear. 
 Which would you prefer — eh ?" 
 
 Auberon Slade will not answer. He 
 longs to tell his host what he thinks of 
 him, but the force of etiquette (and what a 
 powerful force it is to hinder men !) re- 
 strains him, and he keeps silence, glower- 
 ing darkly at the meats set before him, and 
 seizing the first opportunity to escape from 
 the presence he has grown to detest, and 
 to the solitude of his own room. And then 
 he paces up and down, disconsolate, and 
 almost in despair ! 
 
 Oh, what a fate it is, to which this 
 woman is condemned ! this woman whom 
 he loves so ardently ; whom, he thinks, he 
 holds in so much honour and esteem. To 
 be tied to a clown, as utterly unsympa- 
 thetic with her most sacred feelings as he
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 231 
 
 is with her intellectual pursuits ; who holds 
 her — " Something better than his dog ; a 
 little dearer than his horse." 
 
 The thought oppresses, it almost mad- 
 dens him. He is capable of any act of 
 rashness or of sin, that may bring some 
 liberty to her, as, lonely and restless, he 
 walks up and down his room that night. 
 
 He hears Dr. Stewart and Mr. Lawrence 
 leave the house ; receives the intelligence 
 that, though immediate danger is over, 
 there is still in the child's state great 
 reason for alarm ; thinks of her, alone, and 
 full of melancholy foreboding, watching 
 painfully by the bedside of Daisy, and feels 
 as though, at the risk of her fair name, and 
 in utter contempt of all the conventionali- 
 ties of society, he must rush into that 
 darkened dressing-room, and throw himself 
 down at her feet, and give her the assurance 
 of one heart's fidelity.
 
 232 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 But of course he does not do it. Which 
 of us ever does act upon his impulse in 
 matters which defy the code of this world's 
 morals ? We break God's laws with the 
 greatest impunity ; but to outrage the laws 
 of Mammon (unless indeed we have made 
 up our minds first to abjure it), is quite an- 
 other thing ! 
 
 But Auberon Slade does do something : 
 he sits down at his table, and writes and 
 seals the following words, and bribes her 
 maid to take them to her door : — 
 
 " Darling, — Pray send me tidings of 
 yourself and Daisy. My heart bleeds for 
 you : I would give the world to be by your 
 side. Thank you again and again for your 
 assurance of this morning. I have been 
 another man since I received it." 
 
 He sees the modest little missive carried 
 to her threshold ; hears the low knock that
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 233 
 
 gains admission for it, and watches eagerly 
 for a reply. It comes at last — it seems 
 " at last " to him, although it is not ten 
 minutes before the servant returns with it 
 in her hand — a note as tiny as his own, but 
 which he receives with the feverish wel- 
 come of a lover, and locks his door before 
 he opens. But the contents are nothing 
 but a grievous disappointment to him. 
 
 " Thank you for your sympathy. Daisy is 
 better, and I am not at all tired. But 
 pray, pray forget all that I said and did, 
 this morning ! I was weak, wicked, mad ; 
 I wronged both you and myself ; I see it 
 plainly now ! And if you really care for 
 me, go home again before I leave this room ; 
 I do not feel as if I could ever go down- 
 stairs whilst you are there." 
 
 Auberon Slade is thunderstruck ; it seems 
 as though all his hopes (indefinite as they
 
 234 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 were) had been quenched in a moment, and 
 he sits, for an hour, by his table, hanging 
 over her words, and devouring them with 
 his hungry eyes. 
 
 And then he crushes the paper into his 
 pocket, and laughs a low laugh of pique 
 and disappointed vanity, and prepares to 
 join the other men in the billiard-room. 
 
 "Like the rest of them," he thinks 
 bitterly as he does so, "ready enough to 
 lead a man wrong, but afraid to bear the 
 consequences of sinning. Well, as she 
 wishes it, I suppose I must go, but it 
 will not be long before she repents of hav- 
 ing asked me to do so." 
 
 But he says nothing on the subject of his 
 proposed departure that night ; and his com- 
 panions remark afterwards that they have 
 never known Slade make himself so witty 
 and agreeable as he did on that occasion. 
 
 So little do men's outward actions
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 235 
 
 in general correspond with their inmost 
 thoughts. 
 
 Yet could he pierce the mystery that 
 envelopes the note he has received, Auberon 
 Slade would not be so hard in his judgment 
 upon Lady Gwynne. 
 
 She loves him — it is not too strong an 
 expression to say that she adores him- -that, 
 her capability for feeling and for suffering 
 being twice as strong as his, the fatal attach- 
 ment which she has conceived for him, will 
 weigh her down, even to the grave, when, 
 if not forgotten, it shall have lost all its 
 sting for Auberon Slade. 
 
 But it is the very intensity, the force of 
 her affection that causes her to fear ; that 
 makes her feel that she cannot live in his 
 presence, and keep up the airy sham of 
 friendship which has hitherto deceived them 
 both ; nor is she the woman to drag out a 
 life of deception, and live contented with
 
 236 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 herself. Amidst the solitude, and the dark- 
 ness, and the dread of Daisy's sick chamber, 
 she has come to this conclusion : that either 
 she must be Auberon Slade's, or he must 
 go. She glances round for help on every 
 side, but there is none. She lifts her eyes 
 to heaven, aided by the pious words that 
 have been breathed into her ear, and there 
 she finds it, (though for her dull eyes in still 
 imperfect measure), but help at least to see 
 the Bight and strive to follow it. 
 
 And then she feels that he must go ! — 
 her treasure — her love — the sum -total of 
 her life — that she must violently separate 
 from him. And she writes the supposed 
 fiat on her knees, and amidst a storm of 
 blistering tears. 
 
 A thousand times that night, watching 
 by her child's bed, whilst her husband snores 
 melodiously in the adjoining room, does she 
 revolve the words she used, in her own
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 237 
 
 mind, and ask herself if they were really 
 necessary ; if so great a sacrifice were 
 literally demanded of her ; whether she 
 might not, with impunity to her own soul 
 and his, keep Auberon Slade as her dear 
 friend ; learn with and from him, and find 
 her life's happiness in devotion to his wel- 
 fare. The voice of Satan opposes itself to 
 the strong voice of conscience, and half, at 
 times, persuades her that she may ; but her 
 mind is undecided, and her will is waver- 
 ing ; and for very knowledge of her own 
 weakness, she dare not choose the path that 
 seems to her most pleasant. 
 
 A foolish fortune predicted for her by a 
 wandering gipsy in her childhood, that she 
 should live to be twice married, keeps ring- 
 ing in her ear, and making her thoughts all 
 confusion ; until she grows ashamed of so 
 much folly, and dashes cold water on her 
 forehead, and fears her brain is wandering.
 
 238 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 And Sir Lyster, who in general a cannon- 
 ade would hardly wake, is wakened early 
 on the following morning, by the sound of 
 low sobs by his bedside, and the touch of 
 tears upon the cheeks. 
 
 " What the devil !" he exclaims im- 
 patiently, as he turns upon his pillow with a 
 grunt ; " why can't you come to bed, or 
 behave like a Christian f 
 
 " Oh, Lyster ! Lyster !" she cries, laying 
 her sweet, smooth cheeks, against cheeks 
 considerably inflamed from the debauch of 
 the previous evening, "tell me — have I 
 been a good wife to you ? is there anything 
 in which I have particularly failed in 
 doing my duty V 
 
 Sir Lyster raises his purple visage from 
 the pillow, and stares at her, as though he 
 thought she had gone mad. 
 
 " Is the child dead f he says roughly. 
 
 " Dead ! My God ! no. What made you
 
 AT DAISY'S SIDE. 23!> 
 
 think of such a dreadful thing ? She has 
 been sleeping ever since midnight. But I 
 
 1 know that I am often tiresome and 
 
 thoughtless, and determined to have my 
 own way, and you must feel disappointed 
 in me. Oh ! Lyster, tell me if there is any 
 way in which I can please you better, any 
 little thing which I can do to make you 
 happy ; work me, use me in any manner 
 you can think of, so that I may earn the 
 title of a good and faithful wife." 
 
 She has buried her repentant face into 
 his pillow ; she cannot see the look of un- 
 disguised astonishment with which this 
 creature of no sentiment regards her. 
 
 " Do you know what you're talking 
 about V he ejaculates presently. " You've 
 been taking too much of old Stewart's 
 medicine, or parson Lawrence's prayers ; 
 it is evident that something has got into 
 your head."
 
 240 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " Oh ! Lyster ! don't speak to me in that 
 way/' she entreats tearfully ; "if you are 
 unkind to me now, you will kill me." 
 
 " Unkind ! Well ! whatever the Lord 
 made women for, beats my comprehension 
 altogether. The idea of waking a man out 
 of his sleep to tell him such rubbish as 
 that ! Get to your bed, do ! and sleep 
 yourself into your senses again, or I shall 
 think you're a greater fool- than the rest of 
 your sex." 
 
 And turning on his pillow with an oath, 
 Sir Lyster once more composes himself to 
 his balmy slumbers.
 
 SIGNING THE WARRANT. 241 
 
 CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 SIGNING THE WARRANT. 
 
 A UBERON SLADE takes the first 
 opportunity, on the following morn- 
 ing, to inform his host that he- intends to 
 leave Felton Hall, and Sir Lyster Gwynne 
 is naturally astonished both at the sud- 
 denness of the proposal and the prompti- 
 tude with which he intends to put it into 
 execution. 
 
 Several of the men, invited for the shoot- 
 ing season, have already left. Felton Hall 
 is thinning day by day of its most agree- 
 able guests j and its master, who finds little 
 
 vol. I. 16
 
 242 THE PREY OF THE GOBS. 
 
 pleasure in any tiling but field sports and 
 questionable talk, is strongly opposed to 
 Auberon Slade's new idea. 
 
 Besides, had he not affirmed, but a week 
 beforehand, that nothing should prevent 
 his remaining for the pheasant shooting ? 
 
 " But I have been here for more than a 
 month," urges Mr. Slade, though indeci- 
 sively ; " and my strength is perfectly 
 restored." 
 
 "Have you any particular reason for 
 returning to town ?" is the blunt rejoinder ; 
 and to this he scarcely knows what to 
 answer. 
 
 He has a particular reason, as all those 
 who have read of him will be aware ; but 
 he can hardly tell the husband what that 
 is ; and lays himself open to the charge of 
 dissembling, in consequence. He murmurs 
 something about work, and family obliga- 
 tions and previous engagements ; but each
 
 
 SIGNING THE WARRANT. 243 
 
 excuse meets with its proper refutation, 
 until his intentions have not a leg to 
 stand on. 
 
 And then in desperation, remembering 
 her entreaty that he should go before she 
 came downstairs again, and feeling his 
 pride new-pricked by the remembrance, 
 Auberon Slade mentions Lady G Wynne's 
 name — and is sorry for it, the minute after- 
 wards. 
 
 " But putting all private considerations 
 to one side/' he stammers, " I think, in the 
 present state of affairs — with your child ill, 
 and her mother's presence so necessary in 
 the sick room — that it will be a relief to 
 Lady Gwynne to have the house cleared as 
 much as possible." 
 
 " Did she tell you so V demands the 
 husband quickly, and thus, taken aback, 
 Auberon Slade is not ready with his reply. 
 
 " Oh, no ! — of course not — that is, I 
 
 16—2
 
 244 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 mean, I have had no personal communication 
 with Lady Gwynne since the accident 
 occurred." 
 
 The adjective does not escape Sir Lyster's 
 notice — he is a booby — but he is cunning ; 
 and where his suspicions are aroused, able 
 to ferret out and piece together trivial cir- 
 cumstances, that would escape the notice of, 
 or be passed over in the wider range of 
 sight, taken by a cleverer man. And 
 having- had reason, on more than one occa- 
 sion, to suspect his wife does not altogether 
 approve of some of the bachelor friends he 
 brings home to Felton Hal], he is deter- 
 mined that this time, at all events, he will 
 have his own way, and let her see it. But 
 he does not breathe a hint of his suspicions 
 to Auberon Slade. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he says determinately, 
 " I won t hear of your leaving us — and 
 there's an end of it. Town is empty ; you
 
 SIGNING THE WARRANT. 245 
 
 wDl find all your friends gone into the 
 country ; and at the end of ten days, you 
 will cut your throat. As to Lady Gwynne 
 and her fancies, it cannot make the slightest 
 difference to her pottering about the child's 
 room, if there are twenty men below stairs 
 or two. And it will make all the difference 
 in the world to me. So let us hear no 
 more about your returning home until you 
 have had, at least, a fortnight's sport with 
 the pheasants. Why ! the birds are more 
 plentiful this year than they've been for the 
 last ten. — Fact ! — The covers swarm with 
 them ; and I've two of the best-broke dogs 
 in the county. I refuse to let your port- 
 manteau go out of my drive gates. It's no 
 use thinking of it." 
 
 Sir Lyster does not say this because he 
 particularly desires longer to retain the 
 presence of a man with whom he has 
 certainly nothing in common ; but because
 
 246 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 he suspects that his wife has, tacitly or 
 otherwise, given him to understand that his 
 room will be preferable to his company ; 
 and he is determined to show her that he 
 is, what he is so fond of proclaiming himself, 
 " master in his own house I" And so, like 
 many another, bent on a selfish purpose that 
 will not permit him to see, he drives his pig 
 to market the wrong way. 
 
 Meanwhile, Auberon Slade, by passive 
 non-resistance, is silently assenting to Sir 
 Lyster's demand. He has no wish to leave 
 Felton Hall ; on the contrary, he has an 
 earnest desire to meet Lady Gwynne again, 
 and hear her tongue refute her written 
 words. 
 
 And if this man insists upon it (so he 
 argues with himself), he sees no choice but 
 to remain ; he has done all that was re- 
 quired of him in having expressed a wish 
 to go.
 
 SIGNING THE WARRANT. 247 
 
 * — i ■ 
 
 He is very weak, and inconsiderate for 
 her welfare ; but few men are strong when 
 under the dominion of passion, and fewer 
 still will give up their own wishes for the 
 sake of the woman they profess to love. 
 
 Still, the recollection of her wish, and the 
 fear of her displeasure, deter him from 
 giving an unqualified consent to her hus- 
 band's wishes ; and Sir Lyster leaves him, 
 uncertain whether he intends to quit Felton 
 Hall or no, and boiling over with indigna- 
 tion against the supposed author of his 
 impending disappointment. 
 
 He goes straight from Auberon Slade 
 to her presence ; and regardless of poor 
 Daisy's broken slumbers, demands an im- 
 mediate explanation of the mystery. 
 
 " What on earth have you been saying 
 or writing; to Auberon Slade about his 
 returning to town ?" 
 
 The abrupt question startles her.
 
 248 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " Saying, writing V she falters, turning 
 ashy white, as a horrid suspicion darts 
 through her mind that her epistle of the 
 night before, has fallen into the wrong 
 hands. 
 
 " Yes ; saying or writing. Writing most 
 probably, as Slade declares he has not 
 spoken to you since the child's accident 
 occurred. Here he comes to me, with 
 some humbugging story of his being 
 obliged to return home at once, before he 
 has even had a shot at the pheasants ; and 
 from the manner in which he mentioned 
 your name, I am sure you have had some- 
 thing to do with it." 
 
 "Weil," she replies, hesitatingly, think- 
 ing that " honesty will be the best policy," 
 — a truism which, on occasions, the expe- 
 rience of this world sadly contradicts — " I 
 did say, in answer to a note which Mr. 
 Slade sent me last evening, enquiring after
 
 SIGNING THE WARRANT. 240 
 
 Daisys welfare, that — that — perhaps I 
 might not see him again, as it is likely to 
 be a long time before I am able to go 
 downstairs as usual. And you know, 
 Lyster," observing the displeasure which 
 suddenly gathers in her husband's face, 
 " that he has been here for some time — 
 nearly six weeks ; and in any case I sup- 
 pose it cannot be long before he returns 
 to London. Major Calvert and Mr. Pen- 
 rhyn leave the day after to-morrow, and — 
 and—" 
 
 But here she stops, frightened at the 
 look with which the Baronet confronts her ; 
 his anger is thoroughly roused, and he is 
 about to let her know it. 
 
 " How dare you V he commences ; " how 
 dare you presume to dictate to my friends 
 when their visits here, shall either begin, or 
 cease ? Who gave you leave — by whose 
 authority have you been acting V
 
 250 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " Oh ! Lyster ! don't be angry ! I did 
 it for the best. Indeed — indeed — it is 
 best that he should go." 
 
 " For the best," with withering contempt. 
 " "What made you do it at all ? Answer 
 me that !" 
 
 " Daisy is so ill," she falters, " and the 
 house is full enough — and — " 
 
 " D — t — n \" exclaims Sir Lyster ; " that 
 I ever should have taken a woman to in- 
 terfere in my affairs in this fashion. You 
 have strangely forgotten yourself, madam, 
 and it is fit that you should know it." 
 
 " Oh ! Lyster ! for God's sake be ad- 
 vised by me. I don't think you care 
 much for the society of Mr. Slade, and he 
 does not enjoy the shooting like the other 
 men. Keep Calvert and Penryhn with 
 you ; I daresay they will stay on if you 
 ask them ; but let Auberon Slade go back 
 to his own home, and his own pursuits."
 
 SIGNING TEE WARRANT. 251 
 
 She has taken his rough hand, and 
 raised her pleading face to his : she is en- 
 treating him to spare her honour and his 
 own ; but he will neither see nor hear, and 
 shakes her off as though she were obnox- 
 ious to him. 
 
 " Leave me alone ! — will you ? What's 
 the good of all this sentimental nonsense 
 when you have just been doing exactly 
 opposite to what I wish you. However, 
 you've overshot the mark this time, and 
 that T can tell you ! and none of your 
 slobbering will gain you your own way." 
 
 A strange difference takes place in Lady 
 Gwynne's demeanour as she hears these 
 words. Her face grows cold, her eyes 
 shoot fire, and she draws up her figure 
 proudly, and is silent. 
 
 " I have but two words to say to you 
 on this subject," continues Sir Lyster, pre- 
 sently. "Auberon Slade will remain at
 
 252 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 Felton Hall as long as he chooses to remain 
 here — 
 
 " I am sure T don't care if he stays till 
 Doomsday," she interrupts him, scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, and don't presume 
 to speak till I have finished. He will re- 
 main here, and you will come down and do 
 the honours of the dinner-table to him 
 this evening." 
 
 " Give me till to-morrow !" she pants. 
 
 "Not a bit of it. Why the devil 
 should I give you till to-morrow — and after 
 your behaviour, too ?" 
 
 " Daisy ! — she is still so weak." 
 
 " She has plenty of nurses to look after 
 her. Hang it all, why do I keep such a 
 lot of servants if my wife is to be turned 
 into a nursery-maid ?" 
 
 " Say no more ; I will be punctual." 
 
 " You had better be, or you will repent
 
 SIGNING THE WARRANT. 253 
 
 it," he mutters, angrily, as he turns on his 
 heel, and without a glance at his sick 
 child, leaves the apartment. 
 
 When he is gone, Lady Gwynne rises 
 from her seat, and with a knitted brow 
 and trembling hand, turns the key in the 
 door after him. 
 
 He has raised her pride, indignation, 
 resentment, and has completed the task 
 which he commenced that morning ; let 
 him beware of the fruit that shall spring 
 from the seed he scatters with so liberal a 
 hand. 
 
 To repulse her confidence, and throw 
 cold water on an exhibition of her senti- 
 ment, is a dangerous game for any man to 
 play with any woman ; but where he is not 
 master of her love it is a fatal mistake, and 
 Sir Lyster Gwynne has committed that 
 mistake now. 
 
 That his wife ever cared for him is most
 
 254 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 improbable, for he married her at an age 
 when she had had none of that experience 
 of the world which is absolutely necessary 
 to the formation of a prudent and happy 
 choice. 
 
 But the feeling with which she will 
 regard him henceforth will fall very short 
 of the quiet submission which has charac- 
 terised her previous demeanour ; for she 
 has gone to him with her heart, hot and 
 restless, filled with love — her first expe- 
 rience of the passion — for another man, 
 and yet only eager that this one ; her true 
 owner ; to whom she desires to be faithful ; 
 should aid and abet her in treading the 
 path of virtue, and he has refused his 
 help,- — has thrust away her clinging hand, 
 — ridiculed her tears, — almost thrown her 
 from him into the arms of Auberon Slade : 
 those dangerous arms, so ready to receive 
 and give her comfort.
 
 SIGNING THE WARRANT. 255 
 
 And left alone, Lady Gwynne dashes 
 the proud tears from her cheek, and lays 
 down her head on Daisy's pillow, and tries 
 to close her eyes to everything : the cheer- 
 less past, — the troublous present, — the 
 dark, uncertain future. 
 
 She is roused from her reverie by a 
 knock at the door, and the reception of a 
 slip of paper, on which words are written 
 in the well-known hand. 
 
 " What am I to do ? Sir Lyster will 
 not hear of my going ! You must decide 
 for me." 
 
 And, without hesitation, she sits down 
 and sends him her reply. 
 
 " Stay ! It is neither your fault nor 
 mine. We have done our best." 
 
 All ! God ! could she foresee the 
 lengthened misery to which those words
 
 256 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 condemn her, she would not dare to write 
 them. Did she part with him at once, 
 as she desires and knows is best for her, 
 she might yet outlive her fatal predilec- 
 tion. 
 
 But with this hasty note, — the offspring 
 of her husband's inconsideration, — her fate 
 is sealed. 
 
 It speeds upon its errand : it reaches 
 the hand of Auberon Slade : and Lady 
 Glwynne has signed the death-warrant of 
 her heart.
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 257 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 
 
 nflHEY meet! How should they meet 
 except with fluttering hearts, and 
 downcast, conscious looks, and lips that 
 strive vainly not to tremble, whilst utter- 
 ing the most ordinary salutation. 
 
 But Sir Lyster Gwynne is satisfied. 
 His wife, clad in soft muslins and rich laces, 
 which well become her graceful, tender 
 beauty, appears before him at the appointed 
 time, and takes her usual place at the head 
 of his table, proving thereby the strength 
 of his marital authority — the superior 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 power instinctively recognised in the greater 
 mind by the lesser. 
 
 What matter to him if she looks pale, 
 and sad, and thoughtful ; if her eyes studi- 
 ously avoid the glance of Auberon Slade, 
 or the bright flush rises higher and higher 
 in her cheek each time his voice falls on 
 her ear ; her husband is either too dull, or 
 too indifferent to observe it. Some minds 
 might draw an inference from the very care 
 with, which the two friends, erstwhile so 
 intimate, avoid each other for the remainder 
 of the evening, keeping as far apart as the 
 limits of the drawing-room will permit them, 
 and plirsuing their several employments of 
 music, work, or conversation, without the 
 least attempt at interference on the part of 
 the other. But were his eyes directed to 
 the novelty, SirLysters sole remark would 
 be, that either his wife w T as sulky, or his 
 guest was sleepy ; there could be no other
 
 A JV£W COMPACT. 259 
 
 reason for the change. The change, indeed, 
 palpable enough from the beginning to 
 such as were sufficiently on the qui-vive 
 to assign a cause for it, becomes, ere many- 
 days have passed over their heads, but too 
 apparent to those whom it immediately 
 concerns. 
 
 Lady Gwynne and Auberon Slade meet 
 as usual ; they even sit together for several 
 hours in the day (for Daisy is sufficiently 
 recovered by this time to be carried out 
 into the garden, and laid upon a sofa 
 beneath the walnut trees), but they neither 
 speak to, nor look at, nor confide in one 
 another as they used to do. 
 
 All seems changed between them ; they 
 love, if possible, more passionately than 
 they loved before, but (with the knowledge 
 of it) the sunshine has faded out of their 
 existence. They no longer speak of, nor 
 compare their feelings ; they have stripped 
 
 17—2
 
 260 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 them too bare; shame has invaded their 
 intercourse ; and they are afraid of them- 
 selves, and of each other. 
 
 The verse he reads so eloquently, and 
 which carried so sweet a meaning to each 
 heart, before those hearts had been dis- 
 sected, now only brings a burning blush 
 into her cheek, and makes his voice falter ; 
 the hands which used to lie so fondly in 
 each other, neither trembling nor striving 
 to disengage- themselves, now hot and 
 thrilling, meet for a hurried moment, and, 
 as though the contact pained them, unlock 
 by violence, and are free. 
 
 Their converse, too, no longer full of the 
 bright hope they once cherished of an 
 innocent and eternal friendship, has become 
 vapid and commonplace ; for the past is a 
 forbidden subject ; of the present they have 
 nothing to relate ; and the future is a dark 
 mystery which will not bear investigation.
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 261 
 
 When they do talk together and alone, 
 it is in voices sad and subdued, like a 
 mournful echo of past happiness ; or the 
 complaint of souls, utterly bowed down by 
 the hopeless misery that stretches out 
 before them. 
 
 Sometimes her tone is so quietly despair- 
 ing, that, at the risk of again provoking 
 her remorse and incurring her reproaches, 
 Auberon Slade feels bound, by the passion 
 with which he has inspired her, to pour 
 unhallowed balm into her breast, by the 
 reiteration of his unalterable love. At 
 others, it is his voice that shakes her to the 
 very soul, making her almost believe it but 
 the reparation which she owes him, to cast 
 herself at his feet, with the fond assurance 
 that she is his and his only, and he may do 
 with her, and with her life, as he thinks fit. 
 For, with the confession of their mutual 
 love, another great change has passed over,
 
 262 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 and become patent to them both — they 
 have stepped into each other's places. 
 
 She, who was the Mentor and the head, 
 by acknowledgment of her weakness, has 
 placed herself beneath him ; whilst he, by 
 right of conquest, becomes lord and master. 
 
 No longer is her voice heard in counsel 
 or reproof ; henceforth she believes her part 
 is to comfort and submit ; and she feels his 
 influence gaining fresh power over her 
 every day, and, figuratively speaking, is 
 content to sit at his feet like a little child 
 and learn. Humility, particularly if late 
 acquired, is one of the best proofs of earnest 
 love ; no true adorer ever yet considered 
 himself superior to the creature whom he 
 worships ; and when he finds it out, it is 
 the first symptom of his decreasing passion. 
 
 With Auberon Slade's attachment has 
 sprung up the manly intuition to protect 
 and cherish the woman who is ready to risk
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 263 
 
 everything for him : but he still considers 
 her (and will do so to his life's end) as in- 
 finitely above himself in every respect. 
 And so they sit by each other's side, day 
 after day, moody and almost silent, except 
 when the topic is perfectly irrelevant to 
 that which engrosses both their hearts ; and 
 should it wander round to anything ap- 
 proaching it, it is checked by a deep sigh. 
 
 But it is impossible that such a state of 
 affairs can go on for ever, and after a week 
 of silent misery, Lady Gwynne is the first 
 to broach the subject of their distress. 
 
 " Auberon !" (they have not ceased to 
 call each other by their Christian names, 
 the alteration would have been too appa- 
 rent) " a great change has come over our 
 pleasant intercourse ; we are neither of us 
 so happy as we used to be ! Do you not 
 think that, instead of brooding over what 
 appears to be irremediable, it would be
 
 264 TEE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 wiser to sift the matter, and try to find 
 out if, after all, there may not be a cure 
 for it !" 
 
 It is at the close of a long and weary 
 day that she thus speaks. Daisy has been 
 carried into the house to take her afternoon 
 nap, and they are alone, pacing up and 
 down the gravelled drive, but keeping at 
 a respectful distance from each other. 
 
 At the sound of her voice, Auberon Slade 
 turns, a sudden pleasure beaming in his 
 eye ; it appears to him as though he had 
 lost, and but at that moment, re-gained his 
 love. 
 
 " Oh, Gwendoline ! I am so glad to hear 
 you speak of it. I have been so miserable, 
 so self-reproachful since that day. I feel as 
 though I could never forgive myself for 
 having left those wretched verses lying 
 about/' 
 
 " Poor verses ! it was not entirely their
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 265 
 
 fault. No ! Auberon, there is no doubt 
 about tlie matter, we have gone too far." 
 
 " I know it, I feel it I" he murmurs. 
 
 "And shall have to pay the penalty 
 of our rashness ! But thank God it is not 
 too late to retrace our steps. We were 
 very happy before, dear, were we not ?" 
 
 " Happy ! I should think so ! Oh ! 
 Gwendoline ! whilst it was soul to soul, 
 and ' nothing less/ I gloried in your love ; 
 I felt a better, a worthier creature for the 
 knowledge that you cared for me, and took 
 an interest in all I did or suffered, but 
 now- " 
 
 "Let us go back to those dear days, 
 then/' she interrupts him earnestly. " Let 
 us be the friends, the brother and sister 
 that we were before, and forget all about 
 the fatal mistake we made last week." 
 
 " Child ! is it possible T 
 
 " Possible, Auberon ! why not ? Re-
 
 266 THE PREY OF THE GOVS. 
 
 member that in this life Yv T e can never hope 
 to be more to each other than dear 
 friends " 
 
 11 My darling, there is no need to remind 
 me of that ! Does not the bitter truth, 
 like a mocking devil, haunt me day and 
 night ?" 
 
 He speaks so passionately, that she stops 
 short in her career, and regards him mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 " Oh, Auberon ! don't talk in that way ! 
 you make me so very, very miserable." 
 
 " I would tear my tongue out to save 
 you a moment's pain, dear Gwendoline." 
 
 " Then why fret after an impossibility ; 
 why reject the happiness that God places 
 within our reach, to lament that which 
 never can be ours ?" 
 
 " Who knows?" he interrupts her, hastily. 
 
 " ' My faith is large in time, 
 And that which shapes it to some perfect end.' "
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 267 
 
 Only a quotation, but it has the power to 
 make her heart dance warmly ; so quick is 
 it to believe or disbelieve, with him. 
 
 " Then why do you look so melancholy, 
 Auberon ? we can still be friends, the 
 dearest, nearest friends to one another, and 
 thank heaven that it allows us so much." 
 
 But he is silent ; the hearty acquiescence 
 that she waits for, does not come. 
 
 " Oh ! do speak ! do tell me that it is 
 not impossible ; that we shall not be alto- 
 gether separated." 
 
 " God forbid | M 
 
 "Auberon!" very gravely, and after a 
 little pause, " do you mean to intimate we 
 were not wrong ?" 
 
 " I know we were, altogether wrong I" 
 
 " And are you not sorry for it V 
 
 " Devilishly sorry !" 
 
 " Oh, my dear ! then what objection can 
 you moke to my proposal ? There is but
 
 268 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 one alternative. We must either separate ; 
 never see, or talk to, or place confidence in 
 one another more (Auberon could you bear 
 it ?), or we must return to the footing on 
 which we stood a fortnight since. Take 
 your choice ! Mine has been made ages 
 ago." 
 
 " You know it," he exclaims fervently ; 
 " your choice and mine, as everything that 
 concerns us, are but one. I will be your 
 friend, your brother, your servant, any- 
 thing, so that you do not drive me from 
 you — to despair." 
 
 " That's my dear good Auberon/'' she 
 answers, and her hand steals into his. " I 
 knew that you would come to see things in 
 their proper light. You have too much 
 sense, too much good feeling, to waste all 
 the hopes of your life and mine, upon a 
 chimera. We shall be very happy again 
 now ; we shall write and read and sit to-
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 269 
 
 gether as at first, and never remember 
 there was a moment when life looked other- 
 wise to us than what it does. It will 
 require but an effort after all ; just an 
 ordinary effort, such as anyone could 
 make, to detach our thoughts from that 
 unfortunate occurrence ; and if the remem- 
 brance should disturb us, we will regard it 
 as though it had been a scene in some melo- 
 drama in which we both acted very well, 
 but the repetition of which, it would be 
 impossible to carry into daily life. Shall it 
 be so ?" 
 
 " Of course ; nothing could be easier." 
 She stops at that, and heaves a sigh. 
 " Easy or difficult, Auberon ! it must be 
 done." 
 
 « 
 
 " I am quite aware of that, Gwendoline." 
 " And you will help, not hinder me, in 
 doing it f 
 
 " I would lie down under the wheels of
 
 270 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 the next waggon we meet, and let them 
 pass over my head, if you desired me." 
 
 " And you wish to keep me as a friend, 
 Auberon ?" 
 
 " I couldn't part with you, Gwendoline ! 
 it would be impossible. You have become 
 part of my life." 
 
 A glow of pleasure lights up her pale 
 features, but her voice continues steady. 
 
 " Then you will do as I tell you, and my 
 affection can still be yours." 
 
 " For ever, darling V 
 
 " Oh ! Auberon ! how can you ask ? 
 Have I not given you my promise ? Is it 
 possible that any circumstances ; any joy ; 
 any misery ; can alter that? Life may change 
 for both of us ; you may marry, or even 
 cease to care for me " — here he interrupts 
 her with an earnest denial, yet she goes on 
 unheedingly — " but nothing that you can 
 say or think ; no faith or unfaith on your
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 271 
 
 part, can do away with the sacred promises 
 which I have made to you — which I renew 
 this very moment ! More than your friend 
 I cannot — dare not — be, but your faithful 
 unchanging friend I shall continue to my 
 life's end ! So help me God." 
 
 Carried away by the fervour of her feel- 
 ings, Lady Gwynne stops, and raises her 
 eyes appealingly to heaven ; and in the 
 shelter of the dusk which is fast settling 
 down beneath the trees of the shady car- 
 riage drive, Auberon Slade takes her in his 
 arms and kisses her. 
 
 He has not done so since the day when 
 they were interrupted by poor Daisy's 
 accident ; and by the glow that rushes 
 through her veins, the faint sick feeling 
 that oppresses her as his lips meet her own, 
 Gwendoline Gwynne might be warned of 
 the sophistry of the new compact into which 
 she has just entered.
 
 272 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 But she is not ; she only feels intensely 
 thankful that the gloomy reserve which 
 existed between them, has been swept 
 away ; and the mutual confidence, which 
 adds so considerably to his happiness, once 
 more restored ; so similar is true, unselfish 
 love in all its bearings, whether its origin 
 be innocent or otherwise. 
 
 The ice is broken ; yet, after a little 
 while, they seem none the happier for it ; 
 for the open discussion of their feelings, and 
 the improbability that they will ever be 
 gratified, does not bring the cure that Lady 
 Gwynne anticipated ; and too often ends in 
 bitter tears on her part, and in violent 
 lamentations over the inevitable, or rebel- 
 lion against the wisdom that had so ordained 
 their lives, on his ! 
 
 It is about this period that, probably 
 from a vain hope of making him believe 
 her not worthy of his regret, she seems to
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 273 
 
 derive pleasure from exaggerating her own 
 share in the business, and ascribing all the 
 blame of a mutual fault to her love of 
 admiration, and desire to attract notice. It 
 is useless for her lover to remind her that 
 their affection had arrived at its full growth, 
 even before she was aware of it, and that 
 the final denouement was the result of 
 accident. She is quite sure that had it not 
 been for herself, Auberon Slade's virtue 
 would never have been endangered ; and 
 that she alone is to be despised, and crimi- 
 nated, and looked down upon. 
 
 " Of course it is all my fault," she will 
 say decidedly; " and any one who heard our 
 story would make the same remark. I ! — 
 a married woman, and a mother ! what right 
 had I even to dream of such a thing as love ? 
 The blame rests entirely with me ; you will 
 think so yourself after the lapse of a year 
 or two." 
 
 vol. i. IS
 
 274 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 " I am sure I shall do no such thing," he 
 answers warmly. "I have never blamed 
 you, even in my inmost thoughts, and never 
 shall ; let the misery be double what it 
 is ! I ought to have gone away ages ago ; 
 I had no right to remain here, feeling for 
 you as I did/' 
 
 " You stupid boy ! as if that would have 
 made any difference ! We should have met 
 in town or elsewhere, and my insatiable 
 vanity would have hunted you down, all the 
 same ! It is no fault of yours. — Free and 
 unfettered as you were, and yet fresh 
 from a disappointment that had affected 
 you very deeply, what more natural than 
 that you should turn to the first offer of 
 affection that was made you, for solace and 
 relief V 
 
 " But you never offered me your 
 affection, I wrung the avowal of it from 
 you."
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 275 
 
 " You read it in every tone and look and 
 gesture (you told me so, remember !), and 
 what can I have been doing with my tones, 
 and looks, and gestures, to permit them to 
 betray so shameful a secret ? Ah ! there 
 is no excuse for me — none ! If Lyster were 
 unkind to me, or treated me badly, as some 
 husbands do their wives " 
 
 " He is unkind to you ! brutally so 
 at times ! and every friend of yours 
 knows it !" 
 
 " Oh, Auberon ! how can you say so ? I 
 have everything I want, and a great deal of 
 liberty ; and if Lyster is rather rough at 
 times, and swears occasionally, he has never 
 struck me " 
 
 " Struck you ! — by heavens ! I should 
 hope not. He will have to settle an 
 account with me the day he does that ! 
 But I tell you, Gwendoline, that he be- 
 haves brutally to you ; that there has not 
 
 18—2
 
 276 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 been a man at Felton Hall, during the 
 shooting season, who has not observed and 
 commented upon it ; and that I fee] some- 
 times as though I could not sit in the same 
 room with him, and not give him my opinion 
 of his conduct !" 
 
 " Oh, Auberon, Auberon ! think what 
 you are saying ! Would you put an 
 end to our friendship, at once and for 
 ever { 
 
 " Then I must leave this place before I 
 have entirely lost my patience with him — 
 or I shall be kicking him before I know 
 what I am about, and then there will be a 
 regular shindy." 
 
 "And you would desert me then, and 
 leave me without a soul to turn to ; to 
 bear all my troubles alone as I best may ? 
 Oh ! how I wish that we had never 
 met I" 
 
 But he is at her feet, drying her tears,
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 277 
 
 entreating her pardon for his hasty words, 
 and promising to be more patient for the 
 future, and to think as well of her husband 
 as it is in his power to do. 
 
 " Look at me !" cries Lady Gwynne, as 
 she smiles upon him through her glistening 
 tears ; " am I worth all the worry and dis- 
 tress you go through on my account ? Six- 
 and- twenty years of age, and looking thirty 
 if I look a day ! Without beauty, without 
 genius, without anything in particular to 
 recommend me to your notice, what is 
 there in me that fascinates you, unless it be 
 the knowledge of that love which was not 
 of my own seeking — and I could not part 
 with if I would ?" 
 
 " I neither know nor care," is the im- 
 passioned answer ; " I only feel that I adore 
 you ; that you captivate me as no other 
 woman has ever done before ; and that you 
 can do so without the aid of any especial
 
 278 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 beauty, or genius, or accomplishment, is a 
 proof that your influence will last for ever. 
 If I love you for nothing that you have, I 
 cannot unlove you for anything you may 
 lose. It is yourself, my Gwendoline, your- 
 self that holds me captive, and must do so 
 as long as you and I continue." 
 
 " Oh, Auberon ! dearest, don't talk like 
 that, you do make me so wretched ; 
 you take away all the hope I possess of 
 living to see you cured. Indeed it is not 
 I, it is a mere infatuation that holds you. 
 I am a most ordinary woman, out of 
 whom care and disappointment have driven 
 the few attractions which perhaps I once 
 possessed. There are dozens and dozens of 
 girls, better than myself in every respect, 
 who would be but too ready to exchange 
 their love for yours " 
 
 "Thank you! thank you very much! I will 
 set about looking out for one this very day."
 
 A NEW COMPACT. 279 
 
 " You know what I mean ; that if you 
 would only try to look at this matter by 
 the light of common sense, it would appeal 
 so different to you. You are wasting so 
 much happiness ; other people manage to 
 enjoy their friendships without desiring 
 anything more — and — and — there is no 
 question about it, Auberon, we must do the 
 same !" 
 
 " Who disputes it ? I thought the com- 
 pact had been signed, sealed, and delivered, 
 long ago ! We are friends, Gwendoline, 
 are we not ? ' Only that and nothing 
 more/ as somebody says somewhere. I'm 
 sure I don't know what I have done to- 
 day in particular to have earned such a 
 lecture from you." 
 
 And Auberon Slade saunters away, 
 leaving the unhappy woman to brood on 
 her own thoughts, and thoroughly wretched 
 until it is his royal pleasure to smile again ;
 
 280 TEE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 when many days will elapse before she 
 summons up fresh courage to disturb his 
 
 serenity,
 
 ON THE VERGE. 281 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ON THE VERGE. 
 
 j"T"E finds great fault with her about 
 this time for avoiding his company, 
 showing an unworthy distrust, as he 
 calls it, of his resolution, and absenting 
 herself unnecessarily from home — for 
 going, in fact, too often to church. 
 
 For Auberon Slade is just in that state 
 of dissatisfaction with himself — of a full 
 consciousness that he is not acting well or 
 wisely, and a semi-consciousness that his 
 rash indulgence can only end in misery for 
 himself and Lady Gwynne — when he is
 
 282 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 ready to quarrel with anyone — and espe- 
 cially with her — for trying to behave better 
 than he is inclined to do. 
 
 But she will not give up her evening 
 services, even for Auberon Slade, and day 
 after day she flies to the little village 
 church as to a city of refuge, and there, 
 falling at the foot of the cross, pours out 
 the burthen of her sorrow, and tries hard 
 to persuade herself that she is content to 
 take life as God has sent it ; and that her 
 own weak, sinful inclinations are not draw- 
 ing her, hour by hour, closer to the brink 
 of the pit, from which she believes she is 
 trying to escape. 
 
 Lady Gwynne is not a religious woman, 
 for were she so, in the strict meaning of 
 the word, it is probable that she would 
 have been granted strength to crush her 
 love for Auberon Slade, even in the bud ; 
 and, at all events, whilst imbibing the
 
 ON THE VERGE. 263 
 
 divine grace that flows to us through the 
 sacramental channels, and constantly re- 
 minded of her duty by the offices of reli- 
 gion, she could never have played so long 
 and so heedlessly with the earthly fire 
 which now threatens to consume her. 
 
 She is not religious, then — many good 
 and pious people would call her just the 
 contrary — but she has in her a depth of 
 feeling, a power of devotion, and a capa- 
 bility of realising divine things, such as is 
 seldom granted in this life, even to those 
 who have faithfully striven to perform 
 their religious duties ; such as will, at 
 some future day, raise her erring but 
 repentant nature to the sublime heights 
 of sanctity. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence, who, having known Lady 
 Gwynne ever since Sir Lyster brought her 
 
 home to Felton, has recognised this great 
 capacity for good in her, watched over,
 
 284 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 prayed for, and done all in his power to 
 bring it to perfection, and has been propor- 
 tionately disappointed during the last few 
 months, to observe that her daily services 
 have been neglected, is charmed to see her 
 once more in her old place : her figure 
 bowed low before the awful Presence in 
 which she kneels, and her face humbly 
 hidden in her hands. 
 
 He has always taken a great interest in 
 the mistress of the Hall ; he knows she is 
 not happy with her husband, and he has 
 shuddered to hear the light suspicions that 
 have been breathed of her of late ; now, 
 he believes, all must be right again, that 
 the danger— if there were any — is past, 
 and God's goodness and her own sense of 
 duty, have brought her once more into a 
 harbour of safety. 
 
 And in the solitude of his chamber he 
 does not forget to return thanks for what
 
 ON THE VERGE. 28fi 
 
 appears to be an answer to his prayers on 
 her behalf, and to entreat that the same 
 mercy which has led her home may rivet 
 her affections upon those things, unseen 
 but eternal, which alone can have the 
 power to satisfy so exuberant a love. 
 Incense to God — offered perhaps in the 
 eyes of the world, too soon, but heard, 
 accepted, and fulfilled, as such petitions 
 ever are. 
 
 Meanwhile, could Mr. Lawrence look 
 into the heart of the poor impenitent, who 
 has become so regular in her attendance 
 before the altar, he might also be tempted 
 to believe that he had returned thanks 
 prematurely. She weeps, it is true, weeps 
 hot, scalding tears, for the sin and sorrow 
 of the world, and the weakness into which 
 each day betrays herself; and she prays, 
 long and earnestly, that God may remove 
 her grief, or reconcile her to it, or take
 
 286 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 her away where she shall never grieve nor 
 sin again. 
 
 But she does not weep because her sin 
 dishonours God and stains her bright bap- 
 tismal robe afresh, nor is she ready to live 
 on because He wills it, and kiss the rod 
 that makes her a fellow-sufferer with 
 
 Him. 
 
 Yet she is very miserable, and all the 
 more so, because she feels with each fresh 
 service that Heaven has less attraction for 
 her, and the world more ; and yet, with 
 the intuition of despair, she clings to 
 Heaven, and feels as though, were she to 
 miss one evensong, she would miss God 
 altogether. 
 
 And Mr. Lawrence often walks part of 
 the way home with her, strengthening her 
 feeble resolution to do right, by indirect 
 allusions to such a case as he supposes hers 
 may be ; so that occasionally she arrives at
 
 ON THE VERGE. 287 
 
 the Hall almost in good spirits, and quite 
 sure that it is not impossible to do one's 
 duty in this world and yet be happy, the 
 mood of all others in which Auberon Slade 
 most dislikes to see her, for its hopeful- 
 ness seems to reflect upon his discontent, 
 and generally draws down a censure from 
 his lips, which drives it all away. And 
 then she, too, will begin to question the 
 mercy which has hitherto preserved them, 
 and blame Providence for the misfortune 
 which has emanated solely from them- 
 selves. 
 
 " I wonder," she says, with her mourn- 
 ful eyes fixed upon the drooping, moody 
 attitude of her lover, " why God ever per- 
 mitted us to meet each other, Auberon ? 
 He must have known, from the very be- 
 ginning, what would be the result of our 
 acquaintanceship : that we should love, and 
 be miserable, and tempted to do wrong ;
 
 i88 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 and yet He let us meet ! It is very 
 strange." 
 
 " Of course He knew it," rejoins her 
 companion sullenly, " and the parsons 
 would persuade us that He doesn't 
 like to see His creatures unhappy or 
 sinful, and that at the same time He 
 is all powerful and able to rule the ac- 
 cidents of this world. What are we to 
 believe V 
 
 " I hardly know," is the melancholy 
 reply. " He might have prevented it so 
 easily, if He had chosen, might He not ? 
 Our meeting was not of our own seeking ; 
 everything seemed to go against it. And 
 yet it came to pass. Oh ! I am so unhappy ! 
 Why didn't He kill me months ago, and 
 put an end to it ! I would have died joy- 
 fully if my death had saved you from 
 this misery." 
 
 " Darling ! don't speak of it. What
 
 ON THE VERGE. 289 
 
 should I do without you ? You must live, 
 not die for me ■!" 
 
 " But He has permitted our love to grow 
 and grow until it has become a part of my- 
 self. I want to love Him — I want to serve 
 Him ; but I don't feel as if I could love 
 and serve Him without you, and I know 
 that I cannot do it with you. Oh ! 
 Auberon ! save me from myself. I feel as 
 though some invisible hand were drawing 
 me nearer and nearer to the vortex of hell, 
 and that I had neither strength nor will 
 with which to resist it ! Oh ! be merciful, 
 and leave me before it is too late. I would 
 rather die of despair, than live as I am 
 living now ;" and throwing herself on her 
 knees beside him, Gwendoline Gwynne lays 
 her head upon his shoulder, and bursts into 
 an agony of tears. 
 
 Auberon Slade looks down upon the 
 woman who has thus thrown herself upon 
 
 vol. i. \\)
 
 290 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 his mercy, with a passion that is greatly 
 purified by the protecting element with 
 which it mingles. 
 
 He has no wish to wrong her ; on the 
 contrary, if it were possible, he would defend 
 her chastity with the last drop of his 
 blood, and he would give worlds at that 
 moment if some one would onlv rush into 
 the room, and say that Sir Lyster had 
 tumbled down dead in a fit, that he might 
 honourably wed his widow. But none of 
 these convenient accidents ever happen in 
 real life ; and Auberon Slade really believes 
 that in taking this woman away from her 
 husband, he shall be introducing her to such 
 a state of felicity as she has never known 
 before ; and therefore he neither corrobo- 
 rates her fears, nor tells her they are need- 
 less ; he merely strives to set the matter 
 before her in a different light. 
 
 " My darling girl !" stroking the fair hair
 
 ON THE VERGE. 291 
 
 that lies against his breast gently as he 
 speaks, "you take far too exaggerated a 
 view of this sort of thing ! J acknowledge 
 that it is a great pity, that it would be far 
 better if we could avoid it; but you 
 mustn't believe everything that men like 
 Lawrence tell you on the subject. Mar- 
 riage, my dear Gwendoline, is an excel- 
 lent institution — I should be the last man 
 in the world to deny that; more, it is 
 absolutely necessary that, for the sake of 
 society, and the keeping together of families, 
 it should be strictly observed ; but still, 
 when all's said and done, you know, it is 
 only a social arrangement, and you will 
 find nothing in the Bible to teach you that 
 before a man and woman live together, 
 they must go into a church, and have their 
 
 hands joined by a priest !" 
 
 " But, Auberon ! — the commandments I" 
 " My dear child ! the commandments 
 
 19—2
 
 292 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 were made for the Jews ! We might just 
 as well say it is sinful to eat roast pork, as 
 to swear by every little fraction of the ten 
 commandments. Besides, they were drawn 
 up in the days when every man had as 
 many wives as he chose to keep, and not 
 the slightest excuse for stealing his neigh- 
 bour's." 
 
 " Oh ! dearest ! you could never, never 
 teach me to believe that you are right. The 
 Bible speaks plainly enough upon the subject : 
 I want no further light than it can give me. 
 I can only lament that such a warning 
 should be needed by you and me." 
 
 At this he slightly moves his shoulder to 
 one side, so as to relieve it from the burden 
 of her head ; and she perceives the action, 
 and interprets it (as it is meant) into an 
 expression of displeasure. 
 
 "Don't put me from you !" entreatingly ; 
 f l I have no other home but this. The rest
 
 ON THE VERGE. 293 
 
 of the world is cold and dark to me ; if 
 you were to turn against me I should die." 
 
 " My dear child ! you know how far I 
 am disposed to put you from me ! But 
 this kind of thing must end some day — it 
 cannot go on for ever." 
 
 " Oh ! Auberon ! be patient and trust in 
 Heaven ! Everything must come right at 
 last for those who wait and trust." 
 
 " Patience and trust ! I am sick of the 
 very words. The world is altogether 
 wrong. There is no such thing as truth 
 or justice in it." 
 
 "But try not to lose all hope, for my 
 sake ! Think of the lines you are so fond 
 of quoting, — 
 
 " ' Wait, and Love himself will bring 
 The drooping flower of knowledge changed to fruit 
 Of wisdom. Wait : my faith is large in Time, 
 And that which shapes it to some perfect end. 
 
 » >> 
 
 Her soft, sweet eyes are smiling on him
 
 294 TEE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 through her tears ; her trembling lips 
 whisper the words close to his own ; her 
 whole expression, her every gesture, is one 
 of entreaty that he will spare her and him- 
 self, not only the anguish that is in store 
 for them, but the pain of recognising its 
 approach. 
 . But he is not in the mood for mercy ; his 
 eyes refuse to answer hers ; he rises from 
 his seat, almost impatiently, and leaving 
 her still kneeling on the floor, walks up to 
 his own room, and shuts himself noisily in. 
 
 Then she too stands upon her feet, and 
 wipes her streaming eyes, and seeks her 
 chamber, only to prostrate herself afresh, 
 and wonder, through an overwhelming 
 burst of sorrow, if she shall ever unravel 
 the mystery of this world's tutelage. 
 
 After this particular conversation, Aube- 
 ron Slade leaves Lady Gwynne consider- 
 ably to herself; not of intent, perhaps, or
 
 ON THE VERGE. 295 
 
 with the conceived desire, by the assump- 
 tion of a wholesome indifference, to bring 
 matters to a crisis ; but, simply, because he 
 is impatient and fretful under the restraint 
 imposed upon him in her presence, and 
 inclined to believe that a partial separation 
 will prove sufficient to enable him to shake 
 the feeling off. 
 
 And so he affects the company of Sir 
 Lyster and the few male guests who still 
 remain at Felton Hall ; and he laughs a 
 great deal, and smokes a great deal, and 
 drinks a great deal ; and leaves the woman, 
 on whom he has been dancing close attend- 
 ance for the last two months, to break her 
 heart silently over his neglect ; to spend 
 long nights of wakefulness and weary days 
 of solitude, until she is ready to accede to 
 any terms in order that he may smile on 
 her again ; and would rather lie down in 
 the dust beneath his feet, and let him
 
 296 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 trample on her, than live without the assur- 
 ance of his love and sympathy. 
 
 She occupies her morning room in soli- 
 tary grandeur now, surrounded by the 
 books, and fragmentary scraps of poetry 
 which so vividly recall the past ; or listlessly 
 wanders up and down the shrubbery, until 
 the bell calls her to evening church, where, 
 although all her prayers resolve them- 
 selves into petitions for cessation from 
 her suffering, she tries hard to persuade 
 herself that she is very grateful to have 
 been spared temptation for that after- 
 noon. 
 
 But her heavy glance, and wearied lan- 
 guid movements, tell tales to more than one 
 observer at the dinner table, and speak 
 volumes to the person whom they most 
 concern, so that his looks soon follow suit, 
 and two such forlorn pairs of eyes were 
 never seen as, at furtive moments, filled
 
 OX THE VERGE. 297 
 
 with reproach, gaze on each other, and are 
 detected only to be veiled. 
 
 At last she cannot bear the suspense and 
 misery any longer ; she, who in her un- 
 selfishness, imagines she is killing by slow 
 tortures the heart for which she would lay 
 down her life, and she entreats him, in a 
 voice replete with earnest truth, to go away 
 and leave her to her fate, so that he may 
 but save himself the endurance of an agony 
 which is worse than death. 
 
 They have met, almost unexpectedly, so 
 scanty has their intercourse become, at the 
 entrance of the shrubbery, and as her 
 agitated tones and features strike on his 
 ear and meet his eye, Auberon Slade draws 
 her quickly within the shelter of its foliage. 
 
 " Oh ! I cannot, cannot bear to see you 
 thus ; so pale and miserable and downcast, 
 and yet striving to keep up an appearance 
 oi gaiety which mocks your heart and
 
 298 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 mine ! Auberon ! it must not — it shall not 
 go on any longer — you will kill yourself ! 
 Go ! go at once, and never see me more ; 
 'leave me to my fate ! I can bear all things 
 and live — so that you are happy." 
 
 " Leave you to your fate ! — Gwendoline ! 
 do you believe it possible ? No ! you are 
 right. This suspense must kill us both ; 
 for though I dare not stay, I feel that I 
 cannot go !" 
 
 " You must, Auberon ! I will make 
 you ! You must go home to-morrow — to- 
 day — this very moment." 
 
 " And so I will — on one condition ! — 
 That you go with me, Gwendoline I" 
 
 But she does not answer him ; and when 
 he stops to enquire why her footsteps are 
 so suddenly arrested, he finds her, leaning 
 for support against a tree, pale as death, 
 and shaking in every limb, but with eyes 
 fixed on him, gleaming with a light that
 
 ON THE VFAiGE. 299 
 
 tells him that his hour of triumph has 
 arrived. 
 
 " Child ! it is now my turn to say, you must, 
 you shall, and I will make you ! I do not 
 ask it as a favour, I demand it as a right : 
 you only give me what is mine ! Gwen- 
 doline !" and his rich voice melts into a 
 whisper, "you owe it to me ! you, who 
 have sapped my life of all its energy, its 
 strength, and its enjoyment ; who have 
 turned a world that was at least hopeful, 
 into a barren wilderness ; and cramped the 
 efforts by which I was striving after 
 fame ! If you can desert me now, if you 
 care so little for me, and mean so little by 
 what you have said, as to drive me from 
 you, despairing and alone, I shall never do 
 anything to make my name a name of 
 mark. With you — by your side — inspired 
 by your love, I may work wonders ; be- 
 reft of you and hope at the same time,
 
 300 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 there can be but one end for me — and I 
 trust it may come speedily — the grave !" 
 
 " Ob, Auberon ! my dearest ! my beloved ! 
 don't talk to me like tbat ! I who would 
 die to make you happy !" 
 
 She grasps him by the shoulder as she 
 speaks — her lips with gentle violence press 
 his hair, his eyes, his features — all the 
 reserve of the last fortnight has flown in 
 one moment before the terrible picture that 
 his words have conjured up. 
 
 " Prove that you tell the truth by living 
 for me ! I ask no greater sacrifice at your 
 hands." 
 
 " Oh, wait — oh, let me think a moment ! 
 My head is whirling, everything seems to 
 be confusion. No ! no, don't touch me ! 
 don't speak to me — leave me alone, for 
 God's sake ! I must settle this matter by 
 myself." 
 
 She leans against the friendly tree that
 
 ON THE VERGE. 301 
 
 supported her before ; her eyes close and 
 turn in upon her soul ; her breath is drawn 
 laboriously. Happiness and misery, life 
 and death, heaven and hell seem trem- 
 bling in the balance which mentally is 
 weighed before her. She thinks of Felton 
 Hall ; of the many hopeless years she has 
 spent there, silent and uncomplaining it is 
 true, but bound to the earth beneath the 
 weight of an uncongenial companionship, so 
 •distant that a huge barrier seems to be 
 raised between herself and it, and yet so 
 close that the very remembrance brings a 
 shudder of loathing and abhorrence. She 
 thinks of her wasted barren life ; the want 
 of sympathy she has experienced ; the gross 
 passions to which she has been subjected ; 
 and feels as though she has been trailed 
 in the dust until she is unfit for any lot 
 but that which has fallen to her. 
 
 And yet, Auberon Slade— with his power
 
 302 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 of intellect, his youth and beauty, his sym- 
 pathy with her feelings and misfortunes — 
 Auberon Slade loves her, and desires her 
 for his own. 
 
 Oh, bliss ! oh, happiness ! Could earthly 
 happiness, could heavenly bliss, exceed the 
 rapture of that knowledge ; the certainty 
 of loving, and of being loved ? 
 
 As the poor frail, sorely-tempted heart 
 permits itself to linger on this dangerous 
 delight, a vision of life as it might be, spent 
 at his side, rises in her mind and intoxi- 
 cates her. 
 
 A vision of day after day, passed in the 
 certain consciousness that he is here ; of 
 having him at every moment to share her 
 pleasures or distract her cares ; to know if 
 he is sick, her hand has the best right to 
 smooth his pillow ; and that when she dies, 
 her last glance will be fixed on him. 
 
 But at the thought of death, the bright
 
 ON THE VERGE. 303 
 
 flush that has risen to her cheek as her 
 reflections culminate, fades back again, and 
 Auberon Slade, perceiving that some ques- 
 tion, adverse to his fate, has dared to 
 intrude itself, takes her two hands, cold 
 from agitation, in his own, and sends a 
 warm electric shock thrilling through all 
 her veins. 
 
 It is an act worthy of Satan, who fears 
 the soul he longs for, will escape [his 
 clutches. 
 
 " You owe it to me, Gwendoline !" he 
 repeats, softly. " Think — not of yourself, 
 but of what my lonely life will be without 
 you !" And then, referring to his own 
 lines, he goes on, almost fiercely : 
 
 " ' Do what we will, thy fate and mine are fixed ; 
 My life and thine inevitably mixed, 
 We take our destiny and do not fear.' 
 
 Is it your love or your courage that is less 
 than mine ?"
 
 4504 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 At this she wakes,' — revives, — and meet- 
 ing his impassioned glance with a look of 
 wild excitement, throws all consideration 
 to the winds : forgets honour, — duty, — 
 prayer, — everything, excepting that she 
 loves him, and would rather go to hell in 
 his company than to heaven alone. 
 
 " Neither ! Auberon. I have no wish, 
 no will but yours. Build me up, or de- 
 stroy me, as you think best." 
 
 She casts herself upon him, and as he 
 receives her in his arms, do the man jus- 
 tice to believe, that the sharpest pang 
 of self-reproach he has ever experienced 
 in his life, runs through the breast on 
 which she hides her tacitly consenting 
 face. 
 
 " Oh ! my love ! if I could but save you 
 from it: but it is our fate, and my life 
 shall prove the gratitude I feel for your
 
 OX THE VERGE. 305 
 
 devotion. Gwendoline ! tell me that you 
 will never repent your generosity !" 
 
 " Oh ! no !— Oh ! no ! How could I ? 
 It mfor you." 
 
 And yet the choking sobs which she 
 strives to stifle on his shoulder, sound like 
 a bitter sarcasm on the happiness which 
 she promises herself. 
 
 " When shall it be, my darling ? To- 
 morrow ? Can you be ready ? I shall 
 have several arrangements to make 
 first." 
 
 " Whenever you please ! From this 
 day I shall only live to obey your com- 
 mands !" 
 
 " My own dear girl ! To-morrow, then, 
 at three. Shall we go to Paris, Gwendo- 
 line r 
 
 " Anywhere you think best ! I have no 
 choice !" 
 
 VOL. i. 20
 
 306 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 te Paris will be as good a place as any 
 until the first breeze has blown over. Oh ! 
 my dear love : the devotion of my whole 
 life will be insufficient to repay you for 
 the sacrifice you are about to make for 
 me — 
 
 "Hush ! — hush ! Thare can be no 
 debts between you and me. We mutually 
 
 benefit and wrong each other ! May 
 
 Heaven forgive us !" 
 
 " It will, dearest ! depend upon it. It 
 knows how great the temptation has been 
 and how sore the trouble." 
 
 She does not answer, but a slight shud- 
 der runs through the figure which is 
 pressed against his own. 
 
 " My darling ! I can't have you think 
 of anything now, excepting me. Why do 
 you try to disengage yourself ?" 
 
 " Oh ! let me go ! I want to be alone !"
 
 ON THE YE RUE. 307 
 
 " And leave me so ?" reproachfully. 
 
 She is back again, even as he 
 speaks. 
 
 " Auberon ! if I leave you, it is only to 
 collect my thoughts ! I feel ill and agi- 
 tated, and in want of rest. Have I not 
 said enough to satisfy you V 
 
 " Of course ! Do just as you feel in- 
 clined. But don't forget your promise, 
 Gwendoline I" 
 
 " I am not likely to do so ! But, Aube- 
 ron — Auberon !" with an excited clutch 
 upon his arm, "if this clay's work is not 
 to fulfil your hopes and mine, may 
 God strike me dead before we meet 
 again." 
 
 " It will — it must fulfil them," he replies, 
 earnestly. 
 
 But she has quitted his side almost as 
 
 20—2
 
 308 THE PREY OF THE GODS. 
 
 she finishes speaking, and her light, flut- 
 tering robes are already sweeping the 
 shrubbery paths some distance in advance 
 of him. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING, PRINTER, GUILDFORD.