unreasonable. I must make allowance for that.
Still, I did not like this trait in sweet Lizzie's
character; I would speak to her seriously
when we got home. And so, with a pitying
smile, I said it was no matter; I would
make any sacrifice for peace and quiet. The
next day I suffered myself to be led away, out
of Belgium, home again to London.

There, in sight of all my favourite haunts,
the old fever came upon me with tenfold
vigour. I was welcomed once more at
Christie's and Sotheby's, and passed hours
and days in their famous temples; while
sweet Lizzie pined and languished at home,
utterly neglected. And, such was the strange
blindness over me, I could see none of this,
but wondered, and sulked, and fell back on
my old complaint of women being so
unreasonable. Not a little of our money, too,
was going in this wild fashion, in spite of
imploring looks and gentle remonstrances
from Lizzie. But I only held this for more
of woman's folly; and, wrapped up in this
selfish doctrine, I saw her cheeks fade and
her light spirits sink without setting it down
to any cause but whim and caprice. Ah!
a cloud settles down upon me as I think over
those days, and my own stupid blindness—
sacrificing living affection, truth, and love, on
the altars of these cold paper gods!

So it went on for some ten months, when
news came that the Reverend Erasmus had
been suddenly called away to his last account
when sitting in his study chair. This was a
sore trial to Lizzie, who loved her father
dearly. She grieved very much, and said,
what should she do now that her only friend
in the world was gone. At this epoch I felt
a twinge of remorse, and for the next few
days was so devoted and attentive, that I saw
the roses coming back to her cheeks, and the
old bright look into her eyes once more. But
my enemies were still in wait for me. Had
not Doctor Erasmus left me the rare and
valuable library at Donninghurst, as one who
would take care of it and keep it together for
his sake? I was burning to get down and
explore its treasures; and, after many faint
struggles, fell back under the old yoke.

It was just coming on to the winter of that
same year, a very raw unpromising season I
well recollect, when I received one morning,
with Messrs. Sotheby's respects, a catalogue
of the extensive library of a distinguished
person, lately deceased, which was about to
be submitted to public competition. Glancing
down its long files of names, my eye lit
upon a work I had long sought and yearned
for, and which, in utter despair, I had set
down as introuvable. This coveted lot was
no other than the famed Nuremberg
Chronicle, printed in black-letter, and adorned
with curious and primitive cuts. At different
times, some stray copies had been offered to
me, but these were decayed, maimed, cut-down
specimens, very different from the one
now before me, which, in the glowing language
of the catalogue, was a "Choice,
clean copy, in admirable condition.—Antique
—richly embossed binding, and metal clasps.
—A unique and matchless impression." So
it was undoubtedly. For the next few
days I had no other thought but that one.
I discoursed Nuremberg Chronicle; I ate,
drank, and inhaled nothing but Nuremberg
Chronicle. I dropped in at stray hours
to look after its safety, and glared savagely
at other parties who were turning over its
leaves. Poor little Lizzie complained of being
unwell, and lay all day upon the sofa; but
what were such trifles compared with the
well-being of the Chronicle? So I implored
her to be careful of herself, and hurried away
to watch over the precious treasure. What
a change was here! And yet, not so long
since, to save her a moment's pain I would
gladly have made a huge pyre of all the
black-letter rarities ever printed. But that
was in the sunny days, when we lived at
Donninghurst; she was very different then!
So said I, shaking my head wisely, and hugging
myself in my own folly.

The sale was to take place in about a
week's time; and this particular lot was expected
to come on about two o'clock, or thereabouts.
All that morning I was very nervous
and fidgety, and thought the hour would
never draw near.

I had thirty pounds in clean crisp notes
laid providently by for such an emergency.
Such a sum, I calculated, would be more
than sufficient to secure the prize, though I
was aware that at the Fonthill and other
great sales copies had fetched considerably
more. My coffers at this period were at a
very low ebb: I had been indulging this wild
taste to an extravagant degree, giving fancy
prices whenever required; and there were to
be seen in our hall significant groups of dissatisfied
claimants, who were only to be got
away with lame excuses and abundant promises.
Still, I had contrived to gather together these
thirty pounds, which had lain perdus in my
drawer until such an occasion as the present.
It had now got on to one o'clock, and I was
thinking it was full time to be setting out,
when my agent from the country was
announced. Was ever anything more unfortunate?
Still he had business, business not to
be deferred; and besides, had to leave town
that evening; so I had to sit patiently and
hear him out. When he had departed, and
I was just getting my hat and gloves, down
came an express from Lizzie, begging to see
me before I went out, just for one moment.
It was out of the question, I said; utterly
out of the question. I would be too late
as it was; she must wait till I came back.
Here the Abigail, who bore the message,
putting on a mysterious manner, began to
hint darkly concerning her mistress's health
—that she had been ailing these few days
back, and must be treated gently. Muttering
certain ejaculations, I bounded up the