On returning to the passage, I found Vivian walking to and fro; he had lighted his cigar, and was smoking energetically. "So this great heiress," said he, smiling, "who, as far as I could see,--under her hood,--seems no less fair than rich, is the daughter, I presume, of the Mr. Trevanion, whose effusions you so kindly submit to me. He is very rich, then! You never said so, yet I ought to have known it; but you see I know nothing of your beau monde,--not even that Miss Trevanion is one of the greatest heiresses in England." "Yes, Mr. Trevanion is rich," said I, repressing a sigh,--very rich." "And you are his secretary! My dear friend, you may well offer me patience, for a large stock of yours will, I hope, be superfluous to you." "I don't understand you." "Yet you heard that young gentleman, as well as myself and you are in the same house as the heiress." "Vivian!" "Well, what have I said so monstrous?" "Pooh! since you refer to that young gentleman, you heard, too, what his companion told him, 'one ought to be an earl, at least, to aspire to Fanny Trevanion!'" "Tut! as well say that one ought to be a millionnaire to aspire to a million! Yet I believe those who make millions generally begin with pence." "That belief should be a comfort and encouragement to you, Vivian. And now, good-night; I have much to do." "Good-night, then," said Vivian, and we parted. I made my way to Mr. Trevanion's house and to the study. There was a formidable arrear of business waiting for me, and I sat down to it at first resolutely; but by degrees I found my thoughts wandering from the eternal blue-books, and the pen slipped from my hand in the midst of an extract from a Report on Sierra Leone. My pulse beat loud and quick; I was in that state of nervous fever which only emotion can occasion. The sweet voice of Fanny rang in my ears; her eyes, as I had last met them, unusually gentle, almost beseeching, gazed upon me wherever I turned; and then, as in mockery, I heard again those words,--"One ought to be an earl at least to aspire to-" Oh! did I aspire? Was I vain fool so frantic, household traitor so consummate? No, no! Then what did I under the same roof? Why stay to imbibe this sweet poison that was corroding the very springs of my life? At that self-question, which, had I been but a year or two older, I should have asked long before, a mortal terror seized me; the blood rushed from my heart and left me cold, icy cold. To leave the house, leave Fanny! Never again to see those eyes, never to hear that voice! Better die of the sweet poison than of the desolate exile! I rose, I opened the windows; I walked to and fro the room; I could decide nothing, think of nothing; all my mind was in an uproar. With a violent effort at self-mastery, I approached the table again. I resolved to force myself to my task, if it were only to re-collect my faculties and enable them to bear my own torture. I