and fro all the night long in his solitary chamber, heard below by the
faithful Caleb. The drama could not have allowed that treatment; the
drama must have put into words, as "soliloquy," agonies which the non-
dramatic narrator knows that no soliloquy can describe. Humbly do I
imitate, then, the great master of narrative in declining to put into
words the conflict between love and reason that tortured the heart of
Graham Vane when, dropping noiselessly the letter I have just
transcribed, he covered his face with his hands and remained--I know not
how long--in the same position, his head bowed, not a sound escaping from
his lips.

He did not stir from his rooms that day; and had there been a Caleb's
faithful ear to listen, his tread, too, might have been heard all that
sleepless night passing to and fro, but pausing oft, along his solitary
floors.

Possibly love would have borne down all opposing seasonings, doubts, and
prejudices, but for incidents that occurred the following evening. On
that evening Graham dined _en famille_ with his cousins the Altons.
After dinner, the Duke produced the design for a cenotaph inscribed to
the memory of his aunt, Lady Janet King, which he proposed to place in
the family chapel at Alton.

"I know," said the Duke, kindly, "you would wish the old house from which
she sprang to preserve some such record of her who loved you as her son;
and even putting you out of the question, it gratifies me to attest the
claim of our family to a daughter who continues to be famous for her
goodness, and made the goodness so lovable that envy forgave it for being
famous. It was a pang to me when poor Richard King decided on placing
her tomb among strangers; but in conceding his rights as to her resting-