“How little you know of it!” said he, in his tone of accustomed bitterness. “The really high and great rewards of England are given to wealth, to political intrigue, to legal success. It's your banker, your orator, or your scheming barrister, who win the great prizes in our State Lottery. Find out some secret by which life can be restored to the drowned, convert an atmosphere of pestilence into an air of health and vigor, discover how an avalanche may be arrested in its fall, and, if you be an Englishman, you can do nothing better with your knowledge than sell it to a company, and make it marketable through shareholders. Philanthropy can be quoted on 'Change like a Welsh tin-mine or a patent fuel company; and if you could raise the dead, make a 'limited liability' scheme of it before you tell the world your secret.” “Oh, Herbert, it was not thus you were wont to speak.” “No, Grace,” said he, in a tone of gentle, sorrowful meaning; “but there is no such misanthrope as the man who despises himself.” And with this he hastened to his room and locked the door. It was while carelessly and recklessly he scattered the harsh words by which he grieved her most that he now and then struck some chord that vibrated with a pang of almost anguish within him, uttering aloud some speech which from another he would have resented with a blow. Still, as the criminal is oftentimes driven to confess the guilt whose secret burden is too heavy for his heart, preferring even the execration of mankind to the terrible isolation of secrecy, so did he feel a sort of melancholy satisfaction in discovering how humbly and meanly he appeared before himself. “A poor man's pack is soon made, Grace,” said he, with a sad smile, as he entered the room, where she was busily engaged in the little preparations for his journey. “Tom, don't go! don't go! don't!” screamed out the parrot, wildly. “Only listen to the creature,” said he; “he 's at his warnings again. I wish he would condescend to be more explanatory and less oracular.” She only smiled, without replying. “Not but he was right once, Grace,” said Layton, gravely. “You remember how he counselled me against that visit to the Rectory.” “Don't! don't!” croaked out the bird, in a low, guttural voice. “You are too dictatorial, doctor, even for a vice-provost. I will go.” “All wrong! all wrong!” croaked the parrot. “By Jove! he has half shaken my resolution,” said Layton, as he sat down and drew his hand across his brow. “I wish any one would explain to me why it is that he who has all his life resented advice as insult, should be the slave of his belief in omens.” This was uttered in a half- soliloquy, and he went on: “I can go back to at least a dozen events wherein I have had to rue or to rejoice in this faith.” “I too would say, Don't go, Herbert,” said she, languidly.