king
eyes upon her orphan twins, after which, throughout the night, she had
slept away into heaven. Now again had come a summer evening memorable
for unhappiness; now again the daughter thought of those dying lights of
love which streamed at sunset from the closing eyes of her mother;
again, and just as she went back in thought to this image, the same
silvery voice of the dial sounded nine o'clock. Again she remembered her
mother's dying request; again her own tear-hallowed promise--and with
her heart in her mother's grave she now rose to fulfil it. Here, then
when this solemn recurrence to a testamentary counsel has ceased to be a
mere office of duty towards the departed, having taken the shape of a
consolation for herself, let us pause.

* * * * *

Now, fair companion in this exploring voyage of inquest into hidden
scenes, or forgotten scenes of human life--perhaps it might be
instructive to direct our glasses upon the false perfidious lover. It
might. But do not let us do so. We might like him better, or pity him
more, than either of us would desire. His name and memory have long
since dropped out of every body's thoughts. Of prosperity, and (what is
more important) of internal peace, he is reputed to have had no gleam
from the moment when he betrayed his faith, and in one day threw away
the jewel of good conscience, and "a pearl richer than all his tribe."
But, however that may be, it is certain that, finally, he became a
wreck; and of any _hopeless_ wreck it is painful to talk--much more so,
when through him others also became wrecks.

Shall we, then, after an interval of nearly two years has passed over
the young lady in the boudoir, look in again upon _her_? You hesitate,
fair friend: and I myself hesitate. For in fact she also has become a
wreck; and it would grieve us both to see her altered. At the end of
twenty-one months she retains hardly a vestige of resemblance to the
fine young woman we saw on that unhappy evening with her aunt and
cousin. On consideration, therefore, let us do this. We will direct our
glasses to her room, at a point of time about six weeks further on.
Suppose this time gone; suppose her now dressed for her grave, and
placed in her coffin. The advantage of that is--that, though no change
can restore the ravages of the past, yet (as often is found to happen
with young persons) the expression has revived from her girlish years.
The child-like aspect has re