Of his father could Lionel Haughton be proud now? And Darrell was cognizant of his paternal disgrace, had taunted his father in yonder old hall--for what?--the marriage from which Lionel sprang! The hands grew tighter and tighter before that burning face. He did not weep, as he had done in Vance’s presence at a thought much less galling. Not that tears would have misbecome him. Shallow judges of human nature are they who think that tears in themselves ever misbecome boy or even man. Well did the sternest of Roman writers place the arch distinction of humanity aloft from all meaner of Heaven’s creatures, in the prerogative of tears! Sooner mayst thou trust thy purse to a professional pickpocket than give loyal friendship to the man who boasts of eyes to which the heart never mounts in dew! Only, when man weeps he should be alone,--not because tears are weak, but because they should be sacred. Tears are akin to prayers. Pharisees parade prayer! impostors parade tears. O Pegasus, Pegasus,--softly, softly,--thou hast hurried me off amidst the clouds: drop me gently down--there, by the side of the motionless boy in the shadowy glen. CHAPTER VII. Lionel Haughton, having hitherto much improved his chance of fortune, decides the question, “What will he do with it?” “I have been seeking you everywhere,” said a well-known voice; and a hand rested lightly on Lionel’s shoulder. The boy looked up, startled, but yet heavily, and saw Guy Darrell, the last man on earth he could have desired to see. “Will you come in for a few minutes? you are wanted.” “What for? I would rather stay here. Who can want me?” Darrell, struck by the words and the sullen tone in which they were uttered, surveyed Lionel’s face for an instant, and replied in a voice involuntarily more kind than usual,-- “Some one very commonplace, but since the Picts went out of fashion, very necessary to mortals the most sublime. I ought to apologize for his coming. You threatened to leave me yesterday because of a defect in your wardrobe. Mr. Fairthorn wrote to my tailor to hasten hither and repair it. He is here. I commend him to your custom! Don’t despise him because he makes for a man of my remote generation. Tailors are keen observers and do not grow out of date so quickly as politicians.” The words were said with a playful good-humour very uncommon to Mr. Darrell. The intention was obviously kind and kinsmanlike. Lionel sprang to his feet; his lip curled, his eye flashed, and his crest rose.