hat
passion was part of her nature; therefore her very life, lying tranced.
She certainly could not love without passion such an abandonment was the
sole justification of love in a woman standing where she stood. And now
for the first time she saw her exact position before the world; and she
saw some way into her lord: saw that he nursed a wound, extracted balm
from anything enabling him to show the world how he despised it, and
undesigningly immolated her for the petty gratification.

It could not, in consequence, be the truth. To bear what she had borne
she must be a passionless woman; and she was glad of her present safety
in thinking it. Once it was absolutely true. She swam away to the
golden-circled Island of Once; landed, and dwelt there solitarily and
blissfully, looking forward to Sunday's walk round the park, looking
back on it. Proudly she could tell herself that her dreams of the Prince
of the island had not been illusions as far as he was concerned; for he
had a great soul. He did not aim at a tawdry glory. He was a loss to
our army--no loss to his country or the world. A woman might clasp her
feeling of pride in having foreseen distinction for him; and a little,
too, in distinguishing now the true individual distinction from the
feathered uniform vulgar. Where the girl's dreams had proved illusions,
she beheld in a title and luxuries, in a loveless marriage.

That was perilous ground. Still it taught her to see that the
substantial is the dust; and passion not being active, she could
reflect. After a series of penetrative flashes, flattering to her
intelligence the more startling they were, reflection was exhausted.
She sank on her nature's desire to join or witness agonistic incidents,
shocks, wrestlings, the adventures which are brilliant air to sanguine
energies. Imagination shot tap, and whirled the circle of a succession
of them; and she had a companion and leader, unfeatured, reverently
obeyed, accepted as not to be known, not to be guessed at, in the
deepest hooded inmost of her being speechlessly divined.

The sudden result of Aminta's turmoil was a determination that she must
look on Steignton. And what was to be gained by that? She had no idea.
And how had she stopped her imaginative flight with the thought of
looking on Steignton? All she could tell was, that it would close a
volume. She could not say why the volume must be closed.

Her orders for the journey down to Steignton were prompt. Mr