We were all delighted not only with the intentions Marmaduke thus expressed, but with the cheerfulness and gaiety of his manner in speaking of them; and when the rest had retired for the night, and my old friend and I were in my room having that last chat by the midnight fire which is perhaps the zenith of human converse, as the curtain lecture is undoubtedly the nadir, I could not help congratulating him on his change of spirits. "That you are a happy man, I know," said I; "you would be ungrateful indeed if you were otherwise. But I cannot say how pleased I am to find that the good Genius, who has so blessed you in other respects, has exorcised this phantom fear of yours; that you no longer dread that childish bugbear, Sir Massingberd." "Hush!" cried he, looking involuntarily over his shoulder; "do not mention that name, Peter. I would gladly give up house and land this moment, never to go back to Fairburn; I have a presentiment that evil will come of it. She would absolve me from my promise even now--Heaven bless her, as it must do, for she is of the angels!--but that there will be another soon whose interests must be looked to as well as our own. You will be godfather, dear Peter, will you not? Lucy and I both wish it. 'Let it be Peter's godchild, Marmaduke,' she said to me only yesterday, although I should not divulge these secrets to an old bachelor like you." Of course, I promised readily enough, but long after he had bidden me good-night, I sat over the paling embers, thinking, thinking; and when every coal was charred, and the black bars cold that held them, I sat thinking still. My hopes, for a few fleeting hours, long ago, had been as bright and warm as they, and were now as dark--and dead. CHAPTER XVI. TAKING THE SEALS OFF.