“Not yet, until you have promised to consent to my proposal, and be once more member for Lansmere. Tut! don’t shake your head. I cannot be denied. I claim your promise in right of our friendship, and shall be seriously hurt if you even pause to reflect on it.” “Well, well, I know not how to refuse you, Harley; but you have not been to Lansmere yourself since—since that sad event. You must not revive the old wound—_you_ must not go; and—and I own it, Harley; the remembrance of it pains even me. I would rather not go to Lansmere.” “Ah! my friend, this is an excess of sympathy, and I cannot listen to it. I begin even to blame my own weakness, and to feel that we have no right to make ourselves the soft slaves of the past.” “You do appear to me of late to have changed,” cried Egerton suddenly, and with a brightening aspect. “Do tell me that you are happy in the contemplation of your new ties—that I shall live to see you once more restored to your former self.” “All I can answer, Audley,” said L’Estrange, with a thoughtful brow, “is, that you are right in one thing—I am changed; and I am struggling to gain strength for duty and for honour. Adieu! I shall tell my father that you accede to our wishes.” CHAPTER VI. When Harley was gone, Egerton sunk back on his chair, as if in extreme physical or mental exhaustion, all the lines of his countenance relaxed and jaded. “To go back to that place—there—there—where—Courage, courage—what is another pang?” He rose with an effort, and folding his arms tightly across his breast, paced slowly to and fro the large, mournful, solitary room. Gradually his countenance assumed its usual cold and austere composure—the secret eye, the guarded lip, the haughty collected front. The man of the world was himself once more. “Now to gain time, and to baffle the usurer,” murmured Egerton, with that low tone of easy scorn, which bespoke consciousness of superior power and the familiar mastery over hostile natures. He rang the bell: the servant entered. “Is Baron Levy still waiting?” “Yes, sir.” “Admit him.” Levy entered. “I beg your pardon, Levy,” said the ex-minister, “for having so long detained you. I am now at your commands.” “My dear fellow,” returned the Baron, “no apologies between friends so old as we are; and I fear that my business is not so agreeable as to make you impatient to discuss it.” EGERTON, (with perfect composure.)—“I am to conclude, then, that you wish to bring our accounts to a close. Whenever you will, Levy.” THE BARON, (disconcerted and surprised.)—“_Peste! mon cher_, you take things coolly. But if our accounts are closed, I fear you will have but little to live upon.” EGERTON.—“I can continue to live on the salary of a Cabinet Minister.” BARON.—“Possibly; but you are no longer a Cabinet Minister.”