t--that a sort of humiliation, in listening to the converse of
servants, was reflected on her, and she remained silent.

There never was a passion in this world--there never will be one--so
fantastic, so delusive, so powerful as jealousy. Mr. Carlyle dismissed
the episode from his thoughts; he believed his wife's emotion to have
been simply from a feverish dream, and never supposed but that, with
the dream, its recollection would pass away from her. Not so. Implicitly
relying upon her husband's words at the moment, feeling quite ashamed
at her own suspicion, Lady Isabel afterward suffered the unhappy fear to
regain its influence; the ill-starred revelations of Wilson reasserted
their power, overmastering the denial of Mr. Carlyle. Shakspeare calls
jealousy yellow and green; I think it may be called black and white for
it most assuredly views white as black, and black as white. The most
fanciful surmises wear the aspect of truth, the greatest improbabilities
appear as consistent realities. Not another word said Isabel to her
husband; and the feeling--you will understand this if you have ever been
foolish enough to sun yourself in its delights--only caused her to grow
more attached to him, to be more eager for his love. But certain it is
that Barbara Hare dwelt on her heart like an incubus.

CHAPTER XIX.

CAPTAIN THORN AT WEST LYNNE.

"Barbara, how fine the day seems!"

"It is a beautiful day mamma."

"I do think I should be all the better for going out."

"I am sure you would, mamma," was Barbara's answer. "If you went out
more, you would find the benefit. Every fine day you ought to do so.
I will go and ask papa if he can spare Benjamin and the carriage." She
waltzed gaily out of the room, but returned in a moment.

"Mamma, it is all right. Benjamin is gone to get the carriage ready. You
would like a bit of luncheon before you go--I will order the tray."

"Anything you please, dear," said the sweet-tempered gentlewoman. "I
don't know why, but I feel glad to go out to-day; perhaps because it is
lovely."

Benjamin made ready his carriage and himself, and drove out of the yard
at the back, and brought the carriage round to the front gate.

The carriage--or phaeton as it was often called--was a somewhat old
fashioned concern, as many country things are apt to be. A small box in
front for the driver, and a wide seat with a head behind, accommodating
Barbara well between them when Mr. and Mrs. Hare both sat in