It had not occurred to him ever before in his meditations to separate his blood and race from the common English; and he was not of a character to dwell on fantastical and purposeless distinctions, but the mispronunciation of his name and his nephew's at an instant when he was thinking of Nevil's laying down his life for such men as these gross excessive breeders, of ill shape and wooden countenance, pushed him to reflections on the madness of Nevil in endeavouring to lift them up and brush them up; and a curious tenderness for Nevil's madness worked in his breast as he contrasted this much-abused nephew of his with our general English--the so-called nobles, who were sunk in the mud of the traders: the traders, who were sinking in the mud of the workmen: the workmen, who were like harbour-flats at ebb tide round a stuck-fast fleet of vessels big and little. Decidedly a fellow like Nevil would be missed by him! These English, huddling more and more in flocks, turning to lumps, getting to be cut in a pattern and marked by a label--how they bark and snap to rend an obnoxious original! One may chafe at the botheration everlastingly raised by the fellow; but if our England is to keep her place she must have him, and many of him. Have him? He's gone! Lord Romfrey reasoned himself into pathetic sentiment by degrees. He purchased the note paper and envelopes in the town for Cecilia. Late in the afternoon he deposited them on the parlour table at Dr. Shrapnel's. Miss Denham received him. She was about to lie down for her hour of rest on the sofa. Cecilia was upstairs. He inquired if there was any change in his nephew's condition. 'Not any,' said Miss Denham. The voice was abroad for proof of that. He stood with a swelling heart. Jenny flung out a rug to its length beside the sofa, and; holding it by one end, said: 'I must have my rest, to be of service, my lord.' He bowed. He was mute and surprised. The young lady was like no person of her age and sex that he remembered ever to have met. 'I will close the door,' he said, retiring softly. 'Do not, my lord.' The rug was over her, up to her throat, and her eyes were shut. He looked back through the doorway in going out. She was asleep. 'Some delirium. Gannet of good hope. All in the usual course'; he transmitted intelligence to his wife. A strong desire for wine at his dinner-table warned him of something wrong with his iron nerves. CHAPTER LI IN THE NIGHT The delirious voice haunted him. It came no longer accompanied by images and likenesses to this and that of animate nature, which were relieving and distracting; it came to him in its mortal nakedness--an afflicting incessant ringing peal, bare as death's ribs in telling of death. When would it stop? And when it stopped, what would succeed? What ghastly silence! He walked to within view of the lights of Dr. Shrapnel's at night: then home to his hotel.