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But you are not satisfied--you must examine. You take the
kaleidoscope to pieces, and where then are the order and beauty to be
found? Away! I am right still. The doctrine of life is a doctrine of
chances; and there is nothing certain but death--death, the gloomy and
terrible uncreator--heigho!"
Whilst the unbelieving baronet was congratulating himself upon the truth
of his principles and the success of his plans, matters were about to
take place that were soon to subject them to a still more efficient test
than the accommodating but deceptive spirit of his own scepticism.
Lord Cullamore's mind was gradually sinking under some secret sorrow or
calamity, which he refused to disclose even to his son or Lady Emily.
M'Bride's visit had produced a most melancholy effect upon him; indeed,
so deeply was he weighed down by it, that he was almost incapable of
seeing any one, with the exception of his daughter, whom he caressed and
wept over as one would over some beloved being whom death was about to
snatch from the heart and eyes forever.


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