Ravenshoe. By Henry Kingsley.

THE COUP DE GRACE. 163
where a man could win a fortune in a few years, perhaps in one.
There were Canada, and Australia, and India, where a man
needed nothing but energy. He never would take one farthing
from the Ravenshoes, save the twenty pounds he had. That was
a determination nothing could alter. But why need he? There
was gold to be won, and forest to be cleared, in happier lands.
Alas, poor Charles! He has never yet set foot out of England, and perhaps never will. He never thought seriously about
it but this once. He never had it put before him strongly by
any one. Men only emigrate from idleness, restlessness, or
necessity; with the two first of these he was not troubled, and the
last had not come yet. It would, perhaps, have been better for
him to have gone to the backwoods or the diggings; but, as he
says, the reason why he did n't was that he did n't. But at this
sad crisis of his life it gave him comfort for a little to think
about; only for a little, then thought and terror came sweeping
back again.
Lord Saltire? He would be told of this by others. It would
be Charles's duty not to see Lord Saltire again. WVith his present
position in society, as a servant's son, there was nothing to prevent his asking Lord Saltire to provide for him, except - what was
it? Pride? Well, hardly pride. He was humble enough, God
knows; but he felt as if he had gained his good-will, as it were,
by false pretences, and that duty would forbid his presuming on
that good-will any longer. And would Lord Saltire be the same
to a lady's-maid's son as he would to the heir-presumptive of
Ravenshoe? No; there must be no humiliation before those
stern gray eyes. Now he began to see that he loved the owner
of those eyes more deeply than he had thought; and there was
a gleam of pleasure in thinking that, when Lord Saltire heard
of his fighting bravely unassisted with the world, he would say,
"' That lad was a brave fellow; a gentleman after all."
Marston? Would this terrible business, which was so new
and terrible as to be as yet only half appreciated, would it make
any difference to him? Perhaps it might. But, whether or
no, he would humble himself there, and take from him just reproaches for idleness and missed opportunities,. however bitter
they might be.
And Mary? Poor little Mary! Ah! she would be safe with
that good Lady Hainault. That was all. Ah, Charles! what
pale little sprite was that outside your door now, listening, dryeyed, terrified, till you should move? Who saw you come up
with your hands clutched in your hair, like a madman, an hour
ago, and heard you throw yourself upon the floor, and has waited
patiently ever since to see if she could comfort you, were it
never so little? Ah, Charles! Foolish fellow!