Wonderfully hospitable was Madame Lalande; that is, in a fashionable way. She gave grand entertainments, which was indeed but continuing what had been done before the death of her husband. Nor was it so long after that event they were recommenced, and carried on with greater _eclat_ than ever. For Clarisse had become a toast and now an heiress-- sole and safe from any possibility of late-born brother or sister to share the demised wealth. There was keen competition for the favour of her smiles. Knights and baronets were flitting about in plenty, with here and there an earl; and as her ambitious mother aimed at having a titled son-in-law, so spread she the banquet to allure them. During the brief rule of the gay Essex, as a matter of course Madame Lalande's house was open to him; and so frequently was he its guest, there had been talk of an attraction in it beyond the delights of the dinner table or the joys of the dance. He was not a lord; but, as the son of one, in all probability some day would be. Alas! for any matrimonial designs Madame Lalande might have upon the rollicking Colonel for her daughter, her chances of showing him further hospitality were brought to an abrupt end, by his heels getting kicked up in a different way, and himself carried off a prisoner to Berkeley Castle. Withal the festivities in the house of the planter's relict went on as usual--nearly every night something of dinner party, and during the day receptions. If there was suffering in other homes of Bristol through the state of semi-siege in which the place was then held, nothing of this affected the home of the rich West Indian widow. There all was gaiety and splendour. Yet it had inmates who took little delight in its joys, and one who detested them--that one Ambrose Powell. A new style of life, with a companionship altogether uncongenial, was it to him; and, but for its being forced upon him by the necessity of circumstances, he would not have continued it a single day--not an hour. It was many long years since he had last met his sister; and, remembering her as a guileless country girl--almost portionless too--seeing her now a sharp woman of the world, wealthy and devoted to ideas of frivolity and fashion,--above all, finding her changed from the political faith of their common father and family, he was alike surprised and shocked--angry, moreover, to the point of reproaching, even scolding her; and would have done so, but for the question "_Cui bono_?" which had negative, though silent, answer in all he saw around. His dear sister Gwen, who in earlier days would have humbly listened to his counsels, and been controlled by them, would now resent the meekest suggestion as to her way of life or the conduct of her affairs.