Passing through a turnstile, that led from the road across a meadow-slope to the, broken land below, Henrietta had view of the earl’s hard white face, and she hastened to say:  ’You have altered that, my lord.  She is devoted to her brother; and her brother running dangers . . . and danger in itself is an attraction to her.  But her husband will have the first claim.  She has her good sense.  She will never insist on going, if you oppose.  She will be ready to fill her station.  It will be-her pride and her pleasure.’

Henrietta continued in the vein of these assurances; and Carinthia’s character was shooting lightnings through him, withering that of the woman who referred to his wife’s good sense and her station; and certainly would not have betrayed herself by such drawlings if she had been very positive that Carinthia’s disposition toward wealth and luxury resembled hers.  She knew the reverse; or so his contemptuously generous effort to frame an apology for the stuff he was hearing considered it.  His wife was lost to him.  That fact smote on his breast the moment he heard of her desire to go with her brother.

Wildest of enterprises!  But a criminal saw himself guilty of a large part in the disaster the two heroical souls were striving desperately to repair.  If her Chillon went, Carinthia would go—­sure as flame is drawn to air.  The exceeding splendour in the character of a young woman, injured as she had been, soft to love, as he knew her, and giving her husband no other rival than a beloved brother, no ground of complaint save her devotion to her brother, pervaded him, without illuminating or lifting; rather with an indication of a foul contrast, that prostrated him.

Half of our funny heathen lives we are bent double to gather things we have tossed away! was one of the numbers of apposite sayings that hummed about him, for a chorus of the world’s old wisdom in derision, when he descended the heathy path and had sight of Carinthia beside her Chillon.  Would it be the same thing if he had it in hand again?  Did he wish it to be the same?  Was not he another man?  By the leap of his heart to the woman standing down there, he was a better man.

But recent spiritual exercises brought him to see superstitiously how by that sign she was lost to him; for everlastingly in this life the better pays for the worse; thus is the better a proved thing.

Both Chillon and Carinthia, it is probable, might have been stirred to deeper than compassion, had the proud young nobleman taken them into his breast to the scouring of it; exposing the grounds of his former brutality, his gradual enlightenment, his ultimate acknowledgement of the pricelessness of the woman he had won to lose her.  An imploring of forgiveness would not have been necessary with those two, however great their—­or the woman’s—­astonishment at the revelation of an abysmal male humanity.  A complete exposure of past meanness is the deed of