Was not Violet peerless, go where she might? Could such a treasure remain long unsought? and if sought, alas! who could foresee the event?
And here he was alone, at Gilroyd, well knowing that distance, silence, absence, are sure at last to kill the most vigorous passion; and how could a mere fancy, of the flimsiest texture—such as his best hopes could only claim, by way of interest in her heart or in her head—survive these agencies of decay and death?
“Next week I think I shall run up to town. I must arrange about attending an equity draughtsman’s. I’m determined, Sir, to learn my business thoroughly,” said William.
“Right, Sir! I applaud you,” replied the rector, to whom this was addressed. “I see you mean work, and are resolved to master your craft. It’s a noble profession. I had an uncle at it who, everybody said, would have done wonders, but he died of small-pox in the Temple, before he had held a brief, I believe, though he had been some years called; but it would have come. Macte Virtute. I may live to see you charge a jury, Sir.”
CHAPTER LXIX.
WILLIAM MAUBRAY IN LONDON
Violet Darkwell’s stay in London lengthened. Saxton was growing intolerable. William began to despond. He ran up to town, and stayed there a few weeks. He eat his dinner in Lincoln’s Inn Hall for two terms, and dined every Sunday, and twice beside, at the Darkwells’.