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Rh towards its recess, thus leaving an ample space for the culinary preparations, which were now proceeding with full vigour.

As we have but little to say of the master of the house, that little may as well be said here, where he has at least the importance of being host. Lawrence Aylmer had but one pursuit; for that he rose early, and late lay down to rest—for that he toiled and speculated—for that grudged even the common expenses of his living. We need scarcely add, that this pursuit was gain; and this passion—for such it was, with all the strength, the endurance, the hope, the imagination of passion—this craving for wealth, rose from some of the tenderest, the purest, the saddest feelings in our nature; so strangely do the emotions of the human mind originate their opposites!

Lawrence Aylmer loved his wife with the poetry born of her own sweet face—of the green meadow with its early wildflowers—of the long starry walk through the dim shadows of the old forest, wherewith that image was associated. He felt, while he loved, her superiority; his eye might grow gentle beneath hers, and his voice low when meant for her ear. Yet these were not his habits; he was rude in comparison with Lucy. Every hour passed beneath his roof made him