“A sop to Cerberus that,” said Lionel. “You wish to discount your own happiness that my misery may appear the less. It won’t do, Arthur. But never mind, I have not come here to croak. I have heard of your success, of your happy prospects, even in London, and I congratulate you. You have deserved success; you deserve happiness. If I had listened to you before I left England, I too might have been a happy man. As it is, I am the sport of cruel Fortune, a broken-spirited, weak fool, only fit for the society of idiots.” “Tush, tush! talk rationally, my friend; we have all our troubles and disappointments,” said Arthur. “You will soon get over this. Change of scene, the performance of duty, will stand you in good stead, and help you to look upon the past indifferently.” “I fear me not, Arthur; I am dead beat. I came over to England for nothing in the world else but to marry that girl; to throw myself at her feet, and ask her to have mercy on me. In the meantime, as if the devil himself had plotted against me, everything is changed--even the woman herself. Fortune has been playing a game of ‘swop,’ and the woman whom I could have married meets me as my brother’s wife.” “The changes have been very remarkable--very,” said Arthur, altogether at a loss how to say anything in the way of consolation. “Remarkable! Good Lord! why, the world is turned topsy-turvy. _You_ have come right, Arthur, that’s one comfort, and it is my own fault that I stand where I do. Does she love my brother? How came it all about? Was it revenge? Tell me all you know, Arthur: it is some relief to talk about one’s misfortunes.” Arthur complied so far as he could with this request, telling Lionel the story of the eventful period between his departure and return. They sat talking together until evening approached, and then went in to dinner, Lionel finding comfort in his friend’s kindly considerate words and advice. At night they walked forth together by the river. Lionel grew calm in presence of the great swollen torrent, and listened to Arthur’s story of his own life and its troubles, and of his plans for the future. They talked of Phœbe too, and of Arthur’s years of patient hope. Lionel laughed aloud with joy at the story of Richard Tallant’s discomfiture. “I always hated that fellow,” said Lionel, in his loud emphatic way; “he was a thief.” “He had not too high a sense of honour, I fear,” said Arthur. “He was a thief when I knew him,” said Lionel still more emphatically, “and the confederate of that ruffian Gibbs. What a fine old fellow, that father of his, to disinherit the vagabond!” “It was a great blow to him, though he prospers still,” said Arthur. “And I might have had some of the beggar’s money,” said Lionel, “had I married his sister. By heavens! I would have pitched it into the river!”