Herman Brudenell

My son! I seem to breathe that word,
In utterance more clear
Than other words, more slowly round
I move my lips, to keep the sound
Still lingering in my ear.

For were my lonely life allowed
To claim that gifted son,
I should be met by straining eyes,
Welcoming tears and grateful sighs
To hallow my return.

But between me and that dear son
There lies a bar, I feel,
More hard to pass, more girt with awe,
Than any power of injured law,
Or front of bristling steel.

--Milnes.

When the carriage containing Judge Merlin, Claudia, Beatrice, and Mr.
Brudenell reached the Washington House the party separated in the hall;
the ladies went each to her own chamber to dress for dinner, and Judge
Merlin called a servant to show Mr. Brudenell to a spare room, and then
went to his own apartment.

When Herman Brudenell had dismissed his attendant and found himself
alone he sat down in deep thought.

Since the death of Nora he had been a wanderer over the face of the
earth. The revenues of his estate had been mostly paid over to his
mother for the benefit of herself and her daughters, yet had scarcely
been sufficient for the pride, vanity, and extravagance of those foolish
women, who, living in Paris and introduced into court circles by the
American minister, aped the style of the wealthiest among the French
aristocracy, and indulged in the most expensive establishment, equipage,
retinue, dress, jewelry, balls, etc., in the hope of securing alliances
among the old nobility of France.