What was he thinking of as he sat there with his chin resting on his hands, and his eyes fixed intently on the fire? What were those words ringing in his ears--solitude, submission, sacrifice? Ah, how hollow and empty they sounded, these querulous complaints, this Pharisaical self-laudation, when he thought of the manner in which, under the influence of his wife's temper, John Calverley's life had been warped and twisted until his weak nature had been betrayed into the commission of a fearful crime, the result of which was yet impending over the head of that poor trusting girl! What was he thinking of? Of the little right he had in the thought even then floating through his mind, to condemn the dead man whose power of will had been so weak, whose temptation had been so strong! Who was he, to gauge and measure another man's sins, and to preach the doctrine of resistance, when-- 'What was he thinking of?' Mrs. Calverley's words repeated for the third time recalled him from his reverie. 'What was I thinking of? Why, of course of the proposition you have just made to me, mother,' he said aloud. 'It is one which scarcely seems to me to need much reflection,' said Mrs. Calverley coldly. 'In making it I have, as usual, not considered myself, but left the advantages wholly to you.' 'Of course, mother, I fully appreciate your kindness,' said Martin; 'and the mere fact of living with you, and being able to relieve the solitude under which you suffer, would, of course, have much weight with me. By the way, you were alluding just now to Madame Du Tertre's absence. I have never hitherto had an opportunity of asking you how she first became an inmate of this house.' 'Not through any invitation of mine,' said Mrs. Calverley; 'though I am bound to say that as soon as she came here she saw the melancholy life I led, and endeavoured to alleviate it to the best of her power. One of the few things I have to thank Mr. Calverley for is his introduction of Madame Du Tertre.' 'O,' said Martin, looking very much astonished; 'it was through Mr. Calverley that you made her acquaintance?' 'Certainly,' said his mother. 'I went down to Mincing-lane one day, and found Madame Du Tertre closeted with Mr. Calverley in his private room. I thought they would be confused at my entrance; but Mr. Calverley, quite at his ease, presented his companion to me as a French lady, a widow with a small fortune, which she had brought to him to invest. He stated, at the same time, that she was a stranger in London, and without friends, and suggested that, as he was compelled to be much away--compelled, indeed!' repeated Mrs. Calverley, with a sniff of defiance--'it might break the solitude of my life if this French lady, a cheerful person, playing the piano, and that sort of thing, came to live with me as my companion.' 'O, that was what Mr. Calverley proposed,' said Martin reflectively. 'And you agreed to it?'