cannot but believe he will be spared—­spared not only in health, but as a reformed and better man, to bless that mother whose cares for him, despite long years of difficulties and sorrow, have never failed.  In vain I entreated him not to exhaust himself by speaking; that I would not leave him, and if he would only be quiet, he might be better able on the morrow to tell me all he desired.  He would not be checked; he might not, he said, be spared many hours, and he must speak ere he died.  Comparatively speaking, but little actual vice has stained the conduct of Greville.  Throughout all his career the remembrance of his mother has often, very often mingled in his gayest hours, and dashed them with remorseful bitterness.  He owns that often of late years her image, and that of his sister Mary, have risen so mildly, so impressively before him, that he has flown almost like a maniac from the gay and heartless throngs, to solitude and silence, and as the thoughts of home and his infancy, when he first lisped out his boyish prayer by the side of his sister at his mother’s knee, came thronging over him, he has sobbed and wept like a child.  These feelings returned at length so often and so powerfully, that he felt to resist them was even more difficult and painful than to break from the flowery chains which his gay companions had woven round him.  He declared his resolution; he resisted ridicule and persuasion.  Almost for the first time in his life he remained steadily firm, and when he had indeed succeeded, and found himself some distance from the scenes of luxurious pleasure, he felt himself suddenly endowed with an elasticity of spirit, which he had not experienced for many a long year.  The last tidings he had received of his mother and sister were that they were at Paris, and thither he determined to go, having parted from his companions at Florence.  During the greater part of his journey to the French capital, he fancied his movements were watched by a stranger, gentlemanly in his appearance, and not refusing to enter into conversation when Greville accosted him; but still Alfred did not feel satisfied with his companionship, though to get rid of him seemed an impossibility, for however he changed his course, the day never passed without his shadow darkening Greville’s path.  Within eighty miles of Paris, however, he lost all traces of him, and he then reproached himself for indulging in unnecessary fears.  He was not in Paris two days, however, before, to his utter astonishment, he was arrested and thrown into prison on the charge of forging bank-notes, two years previous, to a very considerable amount.  In vain he protested against the accusation alleging at that time he had been in Italy and not in Paris.  Notes bearing his own signature, and papers betraying other misdemeanours, were brought forward, and on their testimony and that of the stranger, whose name he found to be Dupont, he was thrown into prison to await his trial.  To him the whole business