My heart was softened, not by the pathos of the much profaned and desecrated Swan, but by Mr Peacock's unadorned repetition of Vivian's words; I turned my face from the sharp eyes of my companion--the cab now stopped at the foot of London Bridge. I had no more to ask, yet still there was some uneasy curiosity in my mind, which I could hardly define to myself,--was it not jealousy? Vivian, so handsome and so daring--_he_ at least might see the great heiress; Lady Ellinor perhaps thought of no danger there. But--I--I was a lover still, and--nay, such thoughts were folly indeed! "My man," said I to the ex-comedian, "I neither wish to harm Mr Vivian (if I am so to call him,) nor you who imitate him in the variety of your names. But I tell you, fairly, that I do not like your being in Mr Trevanion's employment, and I advise you to get out of it as soon as possible. I say nothing more as yet, for I shall take time to consider well what you have told me." With that I hastened away, and Mr Peacock continued his solitary journey over London Bridge. CHAPTER LXXVIII. Amidst all that lacerated my heart, or tormented my thoughts, that eventful day, I felt at least one joyous emotion, when, on entering our little drawing-room, I found my uncle seated there. The Captain had placed before him on the table a large Bible, borrowed from the landlady. He never travelled, to be sure, without his own Bible, but the print of that was small, and the Captain's eyes began to fail him at night. So this was a Bible with large type; and a candle was placed on either side of it; and the Captain leant his elbows on the table, and both his hands were tightly clasped upon his forehead--tightly, as if to shut out the tempter, and _force_ his whole soul upon the page. He sate, the image of iron courage; in every line of that rigid form there was resolution. "I will _not_ listen to my heart; I _will_ read the Book, and learn to suffer as becomes a Christian man." There was such a pathos in the stern sufferer's attitude, that it spoke those words as plainly as if his lips had said them. Old soldier! thou hast done a soldier's part in many a bloody field; but if I could make visible to the world thy brave soldier's soul, I would paint thee as I saw thee then!--Out on this tyro's hand! At the movement I made, the Captain looked up, and the strife he had gone through was written upon his face. "It has done me good," said he simply, and he closed the book. I drew my chair near to him, and hung my arm over his shoulder. "No cheering news then?" asked I in a whisper. Roland shook his head, and gently laid his finger on his lips. CHAPTER LXXIX. It was impossible for me to intrude upon Roland's thoughts, whatever their nature, with a detail of those circumstances which had roused in me a keen and anxious interest in things apart from his sorrow.