all through it, came back on him more acceptably.
With an eagerness not unnatural (just as though
he would have the satisfaction of settling
the whole affair before he went to bed, and
get it off his mind), he got out his ink and
crested and initialed paper, and actually wrote
the " good sensible letter" to his mother. It
could go by the morning's mail, and he would
have an answer signifying its effect within a
week.

CHAPTER XXII. FERMOR'S NEW CHARACTER.

THE sensation produced in the little colony
when the news got abroad, which it did very soon,
was something astonishing. It was passed from
hand to hand like a fire-bucket at a conflagration.
There were those who had never thought
it, and those who had always thought it; those
who believed it from the beginning, and those
who now could not believe it, with a smaller and
more select class whom it affected in rather an
overwhelming way, falling on them " like a
thunderbolt." It was taken with buns and ices
at noonday at the little pastrycook's of the
colony; it was served after the fish and soup at
the festivals of the colony. Finally, it became
as steel and bark, and invigorated the jaded
systems of the social gossips.

Fermor detested undue publicity of this sort,
and to have any plans of his special life made
free with in the common speech, was a gross
liberty. He froze over all congratulations, and
congealed them before they had time to flow
from the speaker's mouth. It was wonderful
when he looked back on the singular and sudden
step he had taken—how one of his character
could have carried himself steadily through.
But, as he said to himself pretty often, the
"truly balanced mind" is never surprised,
suffering no starts or shocks. Everything is
foreseen, and there everything falls into the
tranquil daily current. Besides, he had within
him an extraordinary amount of what he took
for resolution, but which, when the tests and
acids came to be applied by a moral chemist,
sank to the bottom, resolved into a powder
composed of vanity and a little obstinacy. The
vanity could not allow him to think he could
have made a mistake.

He had now, too, his melodramatic dress on,
and for a few days the whole sensation of the
situation became a sort of stimulating food for
him. He felt that he could enjoy the luxury of
being " generous," and thought with quite a
suffusion of noble feelings of the case of John
Haubury. His worsting of that gentleman, and
the overthrow of other enemies, were indeed
complacent thoughts he was never weary of
entertaining. One of the first things he did
was to call on John Hanbury, and, as he walked
to the house, he had his hand out, morally, all
the way.

Hanbury was at his desk, and had been
writing, but his face was covered up by his
hands, and when he looked up, Fermor was
almost startled by the plain marks of suffering
and anxiety. In all projecting places it had
been sharpened, and all colour had passed away.

Hanbury received him with a violent flush,
and a paleness as violent. " To what am I
indebted——" he was beginning, with a clumsy
attempt at cold dignity, which amused Fermor.

"Come, come!" said the latter, putting out
his physical hand this time, just as he had
rehearsed it, "let us be plain and aboveboard
with one another. I am sorry about the whole
business, for your sake, indeed I am. But you
must consider what I am—merely a passive
instrument."

The other took his hand doubtfully. " I did
not expect it—I scarcely expected it of you,
Fermor," he said, mournfully. "I would not
have behaved so to another man."

"Poor childish boy," thought Fermor,
pityingly, yet singularly gratified with himself, "how
absurdly he feels it, or shows that he feels it."
Fermor himself, in a similar case, would have let
the fox under his uniform eat his heart out;
at least so he thought. " Come, come!" said
Fermor, "you will be reasonable, I know. You
will bear it in a manly way, I am sure, when
you think of it coolly."

"Ah! " said the other, bitterly, " with some
that comes very natural. There are people who
think of everything coolly; I can't; I wish to
God I could; I would not be as—as miserable
as I am." He sat down again at his desk, and
put up his hands. " It was a new life to me,"
he went on, in a sort of dismal monotone.
"It was like a change to heaven—I mean, all
these last few months. I never, never was so
happy! And I firmly believe she was as happy,
and liked me—for a time, at least—until—
until——Ah!" he continued, appealing
piteously to Fermor, " why did you do it? How
could you amuse yourself with such heartless
sport? You will have had things of this sort
over and over again; with me it happens only
once. It is a whole life, and now that you have
taken away life from me, what is left to me?
I tell you, Fermor——" he was growing
vehement, but he stopped himself. " Though, after
all, I suppose you are not so much to blame."

"Now," said Fermor, laying his hand on his
arm, " if you would listen to me for a moment,
I think I could put the matter in such a reasonable
light, that——"

"I know, I know," said Hanbury, dismally.
"I don't want reason, it is a poor comfort to
me. I suppose it is all right—it was to be, and
so it came to be. Of course she has her free
will, and could change her mind if she pleased.
It would be very hard if she couldn't."

"Now, that is a rational way to take it," said
Fermor, "and if I could speak of myself as a third
person—only it is a little delicate, you will admit
—you see, as I said before, I was really passive in
the business. And you will pardon me, I think,
if I remind you that at our last meeting you
really almost threw down the glove. You
recollect? Now, when a man's pride is appealed
to, and he is put upon his mettle—you see? I
really don't know but that if you had appealed