and the weak, had held it as a judgment for loving a heretic; the belief that some fearful judgment was hanging over both grew upon her daily; and by fasts, rigid and severe penance, she strove to avert the penalty, and obtain pardon. Body and mind alike sank under this; and she died in a fearful paroxysm of terror, without one sign of recognition, in Algernon[1]'s arms. He returned to England too late to see his father living; and the first object he met in the old chestnut avenue were the black horses, the dark plumes of the hearse, which were bearing Lord Etheringhame to the vault of his ancestors.
Algernon[2] thenceforth lived in the deepest seclusion: one only object yet had an interest for him—his young brother; perhaps the very loneliness of his affection made it the deeper. In many points of character Edward resembled his brother; but he had an energy which the other had not—a buoyancy of spirit, to which difficulty was a delight. As he advanced in life, many an effort did he make to rouse Lord Etheringhame from his lethargy, but in vain. Grief, after all, is like smoking in a damp country—what was at first a necessity becomes afterwards an indulgence.
