The Major delivered this culminating remark with a well-timed deflection of his forefinger, and slightly turned aside when he had done.

You might have seen Evan’s figure rocking, as he stood with his eyes steadily levelled on his sister’s husband.

The Major, who, whatever he was, was physically no coward, did not fail to interpret the look, and challenge it.

Evan walked to the door, opened it, and said, between his teeth, ’You must go at once.’

‘Eh, sir, eh? what’s this?’ exclaimed the warrior but the door was open, Mr. Goren was in the shop; the scandal of an assault in such a house, and the consequent possibility of his matrimonial alliance becoming bruited in the newspapers, held his arm after it had given an involuntary jerk.  He marched through with becoming dignity, and marched out into the street; and if necks unelastic and heads erect may be taken as the sign of a proud soul and of nobility of mind, my artist has the Major for his model.

Evan displayed no such a presence.  He returned to the little parlour, shut and locked the door to the shop, and forgetting that one was near, sat down, covered his eyes, and gave way to a fit of tearless sobbing.  With one foot in the room Caroline hung watching him.  A pain that she had never known wrung her nerves.  His whole manhood seemed to be shaken, as if by regular pulsations of intensest misery.  She stood in awe of the sight till her limbs failed her, and then staggering to him she fell on her knees, clasping his, passionately kissing them.

CHAPTER XL.

IN WHICH THE COUNTESS STILL SCENTS GAME

Mr. Raikes and his friend Frank Remand, surnamed Franko, to suit the requirements of metre, in which they habitually conversed, were walking arm-in-arm along the drive in Society’s Park on a fine frosty Sunday afternoon of midwinter.  The quips and jokes of Franko were lively, and he looked into the carriages passing, as if he knew that a cheerful countenance is not without charms for their inmates.  Raikes’ face, on the contrary, was barren and bleak.  Being of that nature that when a pun was made he must perforce outstrip it, he fell into Franko’s humour from time to time, but albeit aware that what he uttered was good, and by comparison transcendent, he refused to enjoy it.  Nor when Franko started from his arm to declaim a passage, did he do other than make limp efforts to unite himself to Franko again.  A further sign of immense depression in him was that instead of the creative, it was the critical faculty he exercised, and rather than reply to Franko in his form of speech, he scanned occasional lines and objected to particular phrases.  He had clearly exchanged the sanguine for the bilious temperament, and was fast stranding on the rocky shores of prose.  Franko bore this very well, for he, like Raikes in happier days, claimed all the glances of lovely woman as his own, and on his right there flowed a stream of Beauties.  At last he was compelled to observe:  ’This change is sudden:  wherefore so downcast?  With tigrine claw thou mangiest my speech, thy cheeks are like December’s pippin, and thy tongue most sour!’