His whole being was to be changed, his life was to be
revolutionised. Such an alteration was to take place that even she could
not doubt the immense yet incredible result. Then despair whispered its
cold-blooded taunts, and her last hopeless words echoed in his ear. But
he was too agitated to be calmly miserable, and, in the poignancy of his
feelings, he even meditated death. One thing, however, he could obtain;
one instant relief was yet in his power, solitude. He panted for the
loneliness of his own chamber, broken only by his agitated musings.
The carriage stopped; the lights and noise called him to life. This,
surely, could not be home? Whirled open the door, down dashed the steps,
with all that prompt precision which denotes the practised hand of an
aristocratic retainer. (284)
'What is all this, Symmons? Why did you not drive home?'
'Your Grace forgets that Mr. Annesley and some gentlemen sup with your
Grace to-night at the Alhambra.'
'Impossible! Drive home.'
'Your Grace perhaps forgets that your Grace is expected?' said the
experienced servant, who knew when to urge a master, who, to-morrow,
might blame him for permitting his caprice.
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