wisdom which I can discern, the proper name of which is Chance.  Who have I, for instance, to thank but myself—­my own energy of character, my own perseverance of purpose, my own determined will—­for accomplishing my own projects?  I can perceive no other agent, either visible or invisible.  It is, however, a hard creed—­a painful creed, and one which requires great strength of mind to entertain.  Yet, on the other hand, when I reflect that it may be only the result of a reaction in principle, proceeding from a latent conviction that all is not right within, and that we reject the tribunal because we are conscious that it must condemn us—­abjure the authority of the court because we have violated its jurisdiction; yes, when I reflect upon this, it is then that these visitations of gloom and wretchedness sometimes agonize my mind until it becomes dark and heated, like hell, and I curse both myself and my creed.  Now, however, when this marriage shall have taken place, the great object of my life will be gained—­the great struggle will be over, and I can relax and fall back into a life of comfort, enjoyment, and freedom from anxiety and care.  But, then, is there no risk of sacrificing my daughter’s happiness forever?  I certainly would not do that.  I know, however, what influence the possession of rank, position, title, will have on her, when she comes to know their value by seeing—­ay, and by feeling, how they are appreciated.  There is not a husband-hunting dowager in the world of fashion, nor a female projector or manoeuvrer in aristocratic life, who will not enable her to understand and enjoy her good fortune.  Every sagacious cast for a title will be to her a homily on content.  But, above all, she will be able to see and despise their jealousy, to laugh at their envy, and to exercise at their expense that superiority of intellect and elevation of rank which she will possess; for this I will teach her to do.  Yes, I am satisfied.  All will then go on smoothly, and I shall trouble myself no more about creeds or covenants, whether secular or spiritual.”

He then went to dress and shave after this complacent resolution, but was still a good deal surprised to find that his hand shook so disagreeably, and that his powerful system was in a state of such general and unaccountable agitation.

After he had dressed, and was about to go down stairs, Thomas Corbet came to ask a favor, as he said.

“Well, Corbet,” replied his master, “what is it?”

“My father, sir,” proceeded the other, “wishes to know if you would have any objection to his being present at Miss Gourlay’s marriage, and if you would also allow him to bring a few friends, who, he says, are anxious to see the bride.”

“No objection, Corbet—­none in the world; and least of all to your father.  I have found your family faithful and attached to my interests for many a long year, and it would be too bad to refuse him such a paltry request as that.  Tell him to bring his friends too, and they may be present at the ceremony, if they wish.  It was never my intention that my daughter’s marriage should be a private one, nor would it now, were it not for her state of health.  Let your father’s friends and yours come, then, Corbet, and see that you entertain them properly.”