"And I have deprived her of a principality! That seraphic
being whose lustre even now haunts my vision; the ring of
whose silver tone even now lingers in my ear. He must be a
fiend who could injure her. I am that fiend. Let me see--let
me see!"
And now he seemed wrapt in the very paradise of some creative
vision; still he filled the glass, but this time he only
sipped it, as if he were afraid to disturb the clustering
images around him.
"Let me see--let me see. I could make her a baroness. Gerard
is as much Baron Valence as Shrewsbury is a Talbot. Her name
is Sybil. Curious how, even when peasants, the good blood
keeps the good old family names! The Valences were ever
Sybils.
"I could make her a baroness. Yes! and I could give her
wherewith to endow her state. I could compensate for the
broad lands which should be hers, and which perhaps through me
she has forfeited.
"Could I do more? Could I restore her to the rank she would
honour, assuage these sharp pangs of conscience, and achieve
the secret ambition of my life? What if my son were to be
Lord Valence?
"Is it too bold? A chartist delegate--a peasant's daughter.
With all that shining beauty that I witnessed, with all the
marvellous gifts that their friend Morley so descanted on,--
would she shrink from me? I'm not a crook-backed Richard.
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