gnawed his moustache and his nails as he pondered, and then his thoughts took a sudden turn. The subject which had been uppermost in his mind before this new matter drove everything else out of the question. Come back--Clare! For the moment she had taken Edgar’s part; but this at least it was in his power to alter. As much as he had ever loved any one, he loved Clare; but he was come to his kingdom, and the intoxication of the triumph bewildered his faculties. He might marry any one--not any longer a mere heiress, great or small, but anybody--a duke’s daughter, a lady of the highest pretensions. Arden of Arden was the equal of the best nobleman in Christendom. So he reasoned from the heights of his new elevation. For a moment ambition struggled in him with love: it was in his power now to give Clare back all, and more than all, that she had lost; and in thus gratifying himself he could inflict the last wound upon his adversary. In reality, notwithstanding a thousand shortcomings, he loved her. He thought over all their intercourse, everything that had passed between them--her last words, to which as yet he had made no response. And the heart began to beat more warmly, more quickly in his breast. The end of his musings was that he took his way down the avenue to the Rectory, with his paper of conditions in his pocket. Again it must be said for Arthur Arden that in any case he would have taken this step; but still the alloy of his nature mingled with all he did. Even in seeking his love, he went with a vengeful feeling of satisfaction that if he won Clare from him, that fellow would not have so much to brag of after all.