w, with his love for antiquity--his predilections for
the elegant and the serene--his philosophy of the "Rose-garden"--could
she ever have supposed that he would side with the bold objects and
turbulent will of a popular party in a stormy crisis?

The subject was not renewed. But she had the pain of observing that
Godolphin's manner was altered: he took pleasure in none of his old
hobbies--he was evidently dissatisfied with himself. In fact, it is true
that he, for the first time in his life, felt that there is a remorse
to the mind as well as to the soul, and that a man of genius cannot be
perpetually idle without, as he touches on the middle of his career,
looking to the past with some shame, and to the fixture with some
ambition. One evening, when he had sat by the open window in a
thoughtful and melancholy, almost morose, silence for a considerable
time, Constance, after a violent struggle with herself, rose suddenly,
and fell on his neck--

"Forgive me, Percy," she said, unable to suppress her tears--"forgive
me--it is past--I have no right that you, so superior to myself, should
be sacrificed to my--my prejudices you would call them--so be it. Is
it for your wife to condemn you to be inglorious? No--no--dear
Godolphin--fulfil your destiny--you are born for high objects. Be
active--be distinguished--and I will ask no more!"

John Vernon, in that hour you were forgotten! Who among the dead can
ever hope for fidelity, when love to the living invites a woman to
betray?

"My sweet Constance," said Godolphin, drawing her to his heart, and
affected in proportion as he appreciated all that in that speech his
wife gave up for his sake--the all, far more than the lovely person, the
splendid wealth, the lofty rank that she had brought to his home--"my
sweet Constance, do not think I will take advantage of words so
generously, but hastily spoken. Time enough hereafter to think of
differences between us. At present let us indulge only the luxury of
the new love--the holiness of the new nuptials--that have made us as one
Being. Perhaps this restlessness, so unusual to me, will pass away--let
us wait awhile. At present 'Sparta has many a worthier son.' One other
year, one sweet summer, of the private life we have too much suffered to
glide away, enjoyed, and then we will see whether the harsh realities of
Ambition be worth either a concession or a dispute. Let us go into the
country--to-morrow if you will."

And as Constan