"Yes; and though I was calm, my face not paler, I believe, than usual, I was led to say what I bitterly regret—not because it was untrue, for it was not, rather was it profoundly true—but because it might have been misunderstood. It was disgraceful to marry for mere wealth, I said; and I added, 'too expensive'—since unhappiness at any price was dear. I added that money would never purchase my own heart—school-boy fashion, you perceive; and then I left her—never to return."
A long silence followed these words. Mowbray then added calmly:
"You deduce from this narrative, Charles, one lesson. Never give your affections to a woman suddenly; never make a young girl whom you do not know the queen of your heart—the fountain of your illusions and your dreams. The waking will be unpleasant; pray Heaven you may never wake as I have with a mind which is becoming sour—a heart which is learning to distrust whatever is most fair in human nature. Let us dismiss the subject now. I am glad I felt this impulse to open my heart to you, a stranger, though a friend. We often whisper into a strange ear what our closest friends would ask in vain. See, there is his Excellency's chariot with its six white horses, and look what a graceful bow he makes us!"
Mowbray walked on without betraying the least evidence of emotion. He seemed perfectly calm.[(Back to Table of Content.)]
CHAPTER XI.
HOW HOFFLAND FOUND THAT HE HAD LEFT HIS KEY BEHIND.
They entered the town in silence, and both of the young men seemed busy with their thoughts. Mowbray's face wore its habitual expression of collected calmness; as to Hoffland, he was smiling.
Mowbray at last raised his head, and chasing away his thoughts by a strong effort, said to his companion:
"You have no dormitory yet, I believe—I mean, that you are not domiciled at the college. Can I assist you?"
"Oh, thank you; but I am lodged in town."