“Sir Peter is growing more odd every day,” said Lady Chillingly to herself when left alone. “But he does not mean ill, and there are worse husbands in the world.” Therewith she rang for her maid, gave requisite orders for the preparing of Kenelm’s room, which had not been slept in for many months, and then consulted that functionary as to the adaptation of some dress of hers, too costly to be laid aside, to the style of some dress less costly which Lady Glenalvon had imported from Paris as _la derniere mode_. On the very day on which Kenelm arrived at Exmundham, Chillingly Gordon had received this letter from Mr. Gerald Danvers. DEAR GORDON,--In the ministerial changes announced as rumour in the public papers, and which you may accept as certain, that sweet little cherub--is to be sent to sit up aloft and pray there for the life of poor Jack; namely, of the government he leaves below. In accepting the peerage, which I persuaded him to do,--creates a vacancy for the borough of -----, just the place for you, far better in every way than Saxborough. ----- promises to recommend you to his committee. Come to town at once. Yours, etc. G. DANVERS. Gordon showed this letter to Mr. Travers, and, on receiving the hearty good-wishes of that gentleman, said, with emotion partly genuine, partly assumed, “You cannot guess all that the realization of your good-wishes would be. Once in the House of Commons, and my motives for action are so strong that--do not think me very conceited if I count upon Parliamentary success.” “My clear Gordon, I am as certain of your success as I am of my own existence.” “Should I succeed,--should the great prizes of public life be within my reach,--should I lift myself into a position that would warrant my presumption, do you think I could come to you and say, ‘There is an object of ambition dearer to me than power and office,--the hope of attaining which was the strongest of all my motives of action? And in that hope shall I also have the good-wishes of the father of Cecilia Travers?”