CHAPTER SEVEN.
HER LETTER.
Ay de mi! Un anno felice, Parece un soplo ligero: Pero sin dicha un instante, Es un siglo de tormente.
"-- And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, though ink be made of gall!" It was broad daylight when I got home.
I did not go to bed; but, passed the weary morning hours in walking up and down my room, chewing the bitter cud of hopeless fancy, and in a state of excitement almost approaching to madness.
At last, the time arrived for me to start to town to my office.
"Hey, humph! what is the matter, Mr Lorton ?"--growled old Smudge to me, as I proceeded to sign the attendance book before the fatal black line was drawn against the late comers--"Look ill, look ill! hey?
Late hours, late hours, young man, young man; dissipation, and all the rest of it, hey?
_I_ know how it will end--same as the rest, same as the rest!"-- and he chuckled to himself over some blue book in his corner, as if he had, in the most merry and unbending mood, "passed the time of day" with singular bonhomie! I only gave him a gruff good-morning, however.

I walked listlessly to my desk, where he presently also came, to take me to task about some account I had checked--so as to tone down any presumptuous feelings I might have in consequence of his graciousness:--the "balance" was, thus, "pretty square" between us.
I never found the office-work so tedious, my fellow-clerks so wearisome, nor the whole round of civil service life so dreadfully "flat, stale, and unprofitable," as on that miserable day after the party! The day seemed as if it would never come to an end.
The wretched hours lengthened themselves out, with such indiarubber-like elasticity, that, the interval between ten and four appeared a cycle of centuries! I was longing to be free, in order to carry out a determination to which I had come.
I had resolved to see Mrs Clyde and plead my cause again with her; for, I had observed from Min's manner, that it was not _her_ objection to me personally, but, her promise to her mother which had prevented her from lending a favourable ear to my suit.
Four o'clock came at last--thank heaven! I rushed out of the office; procured a hansom, with the fastest horse I was able to pick out in my hurry; and, set out homewards.
I arrived within the bounds of Saint Canon's parish within the half- hour, thanks to the "pour boire" that I held out, in anticipation of hurry, to my Jehu.
A few minutes afterwards, I called at The Terrace.
The ladies were both out, the servant said.
I called again, later on.
Still "not at home," I was told; although, I knew they were in.

I had watched both Min and Mrs Clyde enter the house, shortly before my second visit.

I was evidently intentionally denied! I went back to my own home.

I spent another hour or two, walking up and down my room in the same cheerful way in which I had passed the morning; and then--_then_, I thought I would write to Mrs Clyde.
Yes, that would be the best course.
I sat down and penned the most vivid sketch of my present grief, asking her to reconsider the former decision she had given against me.