“‘Tis all over! and so, Vivian Grey, your game is up! and to die, too, like a dog! a woman’s dupe! Were I a despot, I should perhaps satiate my vengeance upon this female fiend with the assistance of the rack, but that cannot be; and, after all, it would be but a poor revenge in one who has worshipped the Empire of the Intellect to vindicate the agony I am now enduring upon the base body of a woman. No! ‘tis not all over. There is yet an intellectual rack of which few dream: far, far more terrific than the most exquisite contrivances of Parysatis. Jacinte,” said he to a female attendant that passed, “is your mistress at home?” “She is, sir.” “‘Tis well,” said Vivian, and he sprang upstairs. “Health to the lady of our love!” said Vivian Grey, as he entered the elegant boudoir of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. “In spite of the easterly wind, which has spoiled my beauty for the season, I could not refrain from inquiring after your prosperity before I went to the Marquess. Have you heard the news?” “News! no; what news?” “‘Tis a sad tale,” said Vivian, with a melancholy voice. “Oh! then, pray do not tell it me. I am in no humour for sorrow to-day. Come! a bon-mot, or a calembourg, or exit Mr. Vivian Grey.” “Well, then, good morning! I am off for a black crape, or a Barcelona kerchief. Mrs. Cleveland is dead.” “Dead!” exclaimed Mrs. Lorraine. “Dead! She died last night, suddenly. Is it not horrible?” “Shocking!” exclaimed Mrs. Lorraine, with a mournful voice and an eye dancing with joy. “Why, Mr. Grey, I do declare you are weeping.” “It is not for the departed!” “Nay, Vivian! for Heaven’s sake, what is the matter?” “My dear Mrs. Lorraine!” but here the speaker’s voice was choked with grief, and he could not proceed. “Pray compose yourself.” “Mrs. Felix Lorraine, can I speak with you half an hour, undisturbed?” “By all means. I will ring for Jacinte. Jacinte! mind I am not at home to anyone. Well, what is the matter?” “O! madam, I must pray your patience; I wish you to shrive a penitent.” “Good God! Mr. Grey! for Heaven’s sake be explicit.” “For Heaven’s sake, for your sake, for my soul’s sake, I would be explicit; but explicitness is not the language of such as I am. Can you listen to a tale of horror? can you promise me to contain yourself?” “I will promise anything. Pray, pray proceed.” But in spite of her earnest solicitations her companion was mute. At length he rose from his chair, and leaning on the chimney-piece, buried his face in his hands and wept. “Vivian,” said Mrs. Lorraine, “have you seen the Marquess yet?” “Not yet,” he sobbed; “I am going to him, but I am in no humour for business this morning.” “Compose yourself, I beseech you. I will hear everything. You shall not complain of an inattentive or an irritable auditor. Now, my dear Vivian, sit down and tell me all.” She led him to a chair, and then, after stifling his sobs, with a broken voice he proceeded.