The house was lighted up, he saw, as he approached. There were lights in the windows of those guest-chambers which had once been the pride of her life to the _selige Amalie_ of Herr Süsmeyer. There, in that house, under that roof, he was to meet Adrienne again--no longer the girl whom he might dare to love because she was free, but as the wife of Sebastian Mallory, henceforth to be looked upon with other eyes. A rush of recollections, sweet and bitter, alike filled his mind for a moment, and were very strong. But his will was still stronger. He had not endured his years of sorrow, trial, and probation, to emerge, at the last, a weaker and worse man than he had been at first. He was prepared to endure the pain that awaited him, _piene forte et dure_ though it might be--to endure and perhaps, in the end to conquer it; to bear it, moreover, so that it and its cause should be known to himself alone. It was with a feeling of sadness, but without any of bitterness, that he entered the house. He felt clearly and distinctly that he could meet his successful rival without a feeling of grudging or ill-will. He was ushered into the large commodious room which was Herr Süsmeyer’s library, and in which he always sat when alone, or with intimate friends. Myles, going in, saw his old master in his gala dress of faultless black cloth and dazzling linen, his gouty foot laid up on the stool before him; his best-pleased smile upon his face, looking up to where Sebastian Mallory stood talking, his elbow resting on the top of the piano. There was no one else in the room. Sebastian, who was looking towards the door, changed his position quickly as Myles came in, and went to meet him with outstretched hand. ‘Ah, Heywood, I am glad to see you again. We were talking about you at this instant.’ Myles found it strangely hard at first to return the greeting, but he sternly beat back the grudging feeling which momentarily raised its head, and spoke with cordiality. How well Sebastian looked! How happy! How self-possessed, and at harmony with life and circumstances, naturally, thought Myles. He had everything to make him so. He was little changed. Perhaps there was a degree more of animation or abruptness in his manner; a little more of the active combatant, and less of the amused bystander, looker-on at the world’s game. That was natural too, thought Myles, and to be expected, while Sebastian was thinking he had never seen any man with manner, expression, almost appearance, so completely changed as this ‘revolutionary weaver,’ as Hugo von Birkenau had once called him. He could scarcely realise the excessive change which had taken place. All the old froward defiance appeared to have vanished, and instead there was ‘The reason calm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill,’