to it, considering that in life it could not be requested.  But the susceptibility to sentimental emotion beside a death-bed, with a dying man’s voice in the ear, requires fortification if it is to be maintained;’ and the review of his uncle’s character did not tend to make this very singular request a proof that the lady’s innocence was honoured in it.  His epicurean uncle had no profound esteem for the kind of innocence.  He had always talked of Mrs. Warwick—­with warm respect for her:  Dacier knew that he had bequeathed her a sum of money.  The inferences were either way.  Lord Dannisburgh never spoke evilly of any woman, and he was perhaps bound to indemnify her materially as well as he could for what she had suffered.—­On the other hand, how easy it was to be the dupe of a woman so handsome and clever.—­Unlikely too that his uncle would consent to sit at the Platonic banquet with her.—­Judging by himself, Dacier deemed it possible for man.  He was not quick to kindle, and had lately seen much of her, had found her a Lady Egeria, helpful in counsel, prompting, inspiriting, reviving as well-waters, and as temperately cool:  not one sign of native slipperiness.  Nor did she stir the mud in him upon which proud man is built.  The shadow of the scandal had checked a few shifty sensations rising now and then of their own accord, and had laid them, with the lady’s benign connivance.  This was good proof in her favour, seeing that she must have perceived of late the besetting thirst he had for her company; and alone or in the medley equally.  To see her, hear, exchange ideas with her; and to talk of new books, try to listen to music at the opera and at concerts, and admire her playing of hostess, were novel pleasures, giving him fresh notions of life, and strengthening rather than disturbing the course of his life’s business.

At any rate, she was capable of friendship.  Why not resolutely believe that she had been his uncle’s true and simple friend!  He adopted the resolution, thanking her for one recognized fact:—­he hated marriage, and would by this time have been in the yoke, but for the agreeable deviation of his path to her society.  Since his visit to Copsley, moreover, Lady Dunstane’s idolizing, of her friend had influenced him.  Reflecting on it, he recovered from the shock which his uncle’s request had caused.

Certain positive calculations were running side by side with the speculations in vapour.  His messenger would reach her house at about four of the afternoon.  If then at home, would she decide to start immediately?—­Would she come?  That was a question he did not delay to answer.  Would she defer the visit?  Death replied to that.  She would not delay it.

She would be sure to come at once.  And what of the welcome she would meet?  Leaving the station at London at six in the evening, she might arrive at the Priory, all impediments counted, between ten and eleven at night.  Thence, coldly greeted, or not greeted, to the chamber of death.