owned any more obedience.
First she had to bear in secret the passion of losing the adored object;
then to get further initiation, and to find this worshipped being was
but a clumsy idol: then to admit the silent truth, that it was she was
superior, and not the monarch her master: that she had thoughts which
his brains could never master, and was the better of the two; quite
separate from my lord although tied to him, and bound, as almost all
people (save a very happy few), to work all her life alone. My lord sat
in his chair, laughing his laugh, cracking his joke, his face flushing
with wine--my lady in her place over against him--he never suspecting
that his superior was there, in the calm resigned lady, cold of manner,
with downcast eyes. When he was merry in his cups, he would make jokes
about her coldness, and, "D--- it, now my lady is gone, we will have
t'other bottle," he would say. He was frank enough in telling his
thoughts, such as they were. There was little mystery about my lord's
words or actions. His Fair Rosamond did not live in a Labyrinth, like
the lady of Mr. Addison's opera, but paraded with painted cheeks and a
tipsy retinue in the country town. Had she a mind to be revenged, Lady
Castlewood could have found the way to her rival's house easily enough;
and, if she had come with bowl and dagger, would have been routed off
the ground by the enemy with a volley of Billingsgate, which the fair
person always kept by her.

Meanwhile, it has been said, that for Harry Esmond his benefactress's
sweet face had lost none of its charms. It had always the kindest of
looks and smiles for him--smiles, not so gay and artless perhaps as
those which Lady Castlewood had formerly worn, when, a child herself,
playing with her children, her husband's pleasure and authority were all
she thought of; but out of her griefs and cares, as will happen I think
when these trials fall upon a kindly heart, and are not too unbearable,
grew up a number of thoughts and excellences which had never come into
existence, had not her sorrow and misfortunes engendered them. Sure,
occasion is the father of most that is good in us. As you have seen the
awkward fingers and clumsy tools of a prisoner cut and fashion the most
delicate little pieces of carved work; or achieve the most prodigious
underground labors, and cut through walls of masonry, and saw iron bars
and fetters; 'tis misfortune that awakens ingenuity, or fortitude, or
endurance, in