Since his retirement from the more indolent life of the metropolis
to the quieter and more active pursuits of the country, his character
had bettered a little--inasmuch as it was a shade more accessible
to spiritual influences; the hard soil had in a few places cracked
a hair's breadth, and lay thus far open to the search of those sun
rays which, when they find the human germ, that is, the conscience,
straightway begin to sting it into life. To this betterment the
company of his daughter had chiefly contributed; for if she was
little more developed in the right direction than himself she was
far less developed in the wrong, and the play of affection between
them was the divinest influence that could as yet be brought to
bear upon either; but certain circumstances of late occurrence had
had a share in it, occasioning a revival of old memories which had
a considerably sobering effect upon him.
As he sat at breakfast, about eleven o'clock on the morning after
his return, one of his English servants entered with the message
that a person, calling herself Miss Horn, and refusing to explain
her business desired to see his lordship for a few minutes "Who is
she?" asked the marquis. The man did not know.
"What is she like?"
"An odd looking old lady, my lord, and very oddly dressed."
"Show her into the next room. I shall be with her directly."
Finishing his cup of coffee and peafowl's egg with deliberation,
while he tried his best to recall in what connection he could have
heard the name before, the marquis at length sauntered into the
morning room in his dressing gown, with the Times of the day before
yesterday, just arrived, in his hand.
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