lifetime since, dropt off like tatters of once gaudy apparel from my debased and ruined person, is all renewed for her sake. Were I to reappear, my shame would go with me from darkness into daylight. Zenobia has the splendor, and not the shame. Let the world admire her, and be dazzled by her, the brilliant child of my prosperity!

It is Fauntleroy that still shines through her!” But then, perhaps, another thought occurred to him.

“My poor Priscilla! And am I just to her, in surrendering all to this beautiful Zenobia? Priscilla! I love her best, — I love her only! — but with shame, not pride. So dim, so pallid, so shrinking, — the daughter of my long calamity! Wealth were but a mockery in Priscilla’s hands. What is its use, except to fling a golden