"Now listen, Charley," said he, "and hear my last words. I go away, cursing that woman. You know I'm not romantic, or melodramatic, or any thing of that kind; but she's spoilt my life for me, and I curse her for it. It's too bad,--by the Lord, it's too bad! You know how I--yes, damme, how I loved her. Followed her about like a spaniel, and she could have done any thing with me. And then never to keep her appointment, never to send me a line; and then when I write and make her a regular offer, never to take the least notice--not a line, by Jove!--and to leave her infernal old father to write to me that she's engaged to that cold-blooded, mannerless beast, Streightley! O, I know he's a friend of yours; but, damme it's too bad! And when the governor, dear old boy, had actually got me a nomination to the Treasury, and--however, that's thrown up, and I'm going out to an infernal German principality to be secretary to that bewigged old fool in that carriage, and leaving you, and all through the tricks of that heartless coquette! O yes, all right! I hear the bell, and I'm going to get in. Now, God bless you, old boy; but recollect my last words. I leave this place cursing that girl, and I'll be even with her yet!" Mr. Frere wrung his friend's hand and sprang into the carriage as the train began to move. Charles Yeldham waited until the last glimmer of its red lamps had died away, then turned slowly round, and walked towards his dreary chambers. "It's very bad for you, Gordon, my poor boy!" said he to himself as he strolled along; "very bad indeed, just now! but I sadly fear it will be worse for others in the long-run--and for poor Bob Streightley worst of all!" CHAPTER XI. LEFT LAMENTING.