Winslow Abbey." "I understood that it was already sold, and the money paid," replied Chandos. "Two-thirds of the money have been paid, I hear," replied the barrister, "upon an undertaking, under Sir William's hand, to complete the transfer within a given time. But still the transfer is incomplete; and you must show, by a caveat, that you are not a consenting party, so as to guard against even the semblance of laches on your side. Get your protest drawn up in due form by a solicitor to-morrow, have it laid before counsel for an opinion, and furnish both _vendor_ and _emptor_ with a copy; then set out again upon your voyage of discovery, and let me know the result. Linger not here, fond youth, by the side of beauty; but away, in search of that which, in the present day alone, can unchain Andromeda from the rock. Depend upon it, my dear Winslow, that pretty fable of the lady upon the sea-shore, and the Gorgon-slaying Perseus, has a very unpoetic interpretation. Andromeda is the representative of a fashionable young lady; the rock, the hard state of single blessedness to which her parents chain her, in default of a suitable match; the sea-monster destined to devour her, old maidenism; and Perseus, a rich East-Indian, very bilious, who, with the sword of wealth, slays the monster, and frees the damsel from her chains, to marry her himself. And now let us empty that bottle of Sillery, and have another; for alas! in the life that I lead, I am forced to combat corporal weakness with that which saps corporal strength; and wine versus weariness is the cause I am trying every day." Chandos Winslow remained till a few minutes after ten, and then proceeded, not to the inn which he had tenanted the night before, but to his new abode in Cork Street. What a contrast! Damask curtains, gay coloured carpets, polished mahogany, shining fire-irons, clean walls, and a bright fire! But the contrast was not greater than between his own mood that night and the mood of the night preceding. The words of his friend had relighted the lamp of Hope, of which the everlasting fire of Vesta was but a faint image. CHAPTER XXXIX.