“Is there mercy?” he said in a low voice, at length.  “Is there justice, since a human thing can be so cast into the world—­and left alone?”

Lord Dunstanwolde put his hand upon his shoulder.

“All of us ask,” he said.  “None of us knows.”

CHAPTER V

My Lord Marquess Plunges into the Thames

A rich young nobleman at the University of Oxford, who, having all the resources of wealth and rank at his disposal, chose in these times to devote himself to scholarly pursuits, made in the minds of his fellow-collegians a singular and eccentric figure; but that one, more splendidly endowed by fortune than any other, should so comport himself, and yet no man find it possible to deride or make coarse jokes on him, was, indeed, unheard of.

Yet, when the young heir of the house of Osmonde entered the University, this was the position he held and which none disputed.  There were gay young rakes and ardent young toadies who, hearing of his coming among them, fell into anticipation:  the first, of more splendid frolics, the second, of richer harvests; and though each party was disappointed in its expectation, neither found opportunity to display its chagrin according to the customary methods.

It is, indeed, a strange thing, how a man’s physical body may be his fortress or his enemy.  All the world has at times beheld those whom an insignificant figure and an ill-modelled face handicapped with a severity cruel to the utmost.  A great man but five feet high, and awkward of bearing, has always added to his efforts at accomplishing great deeds the weight of an obstacle which he must first remove from about his neck—­the obstacle his own poor exterior creates.  An eloquent man whose voice is cracked and harsh by nature must be fire itself before he can burn away the barrier between himself and his hearers; a prophet with an ignobly featured countenance and a small, vague eye must needs be a god of wisdom to persuade his disciples that high nobleness can dwell in a temple so mean and poor.  The physical body of the young Marquess of Roxholm was a fortress well-nigh impregnable.  ’Tis not well to take liberties with a creature who takes none himself, and can strike a blow which would fell an ox, if need be.  Besides this, there was in this young man’s look and temper a something which, while it forbade idle familiarities, won to itself the pleasurable admiration and affection of all beholders.  His eye was full of fire and meaning, of laughter and friendliness; his mouth curved into the finest sweet smile in the world, as also it could curl into a look of scorn which could scathe as finely.  He had a keen wit, and could be ironic and biting when he chose, but ’twas not his habit to use his power malevolently.  Even those who envied his great fortunes, and whose spite would have maligned him had he been of different nature, were in a measure restrained from their bitterness by a certain powerful composure, which all felt who looked on him and heard him speak.