guarded now than when under her
eye, her mild entreaties that for her sake Caroline would behave with
reserve, all fell on a poisoned ear. Sullenly she listened, and when her
mother bade her farewell, it was with a heart grieving bitterly. While
smarting under supposed injuries, how little did Caroline imagine the
real agony she inflicted on her mother. If the gentle heart of Mrs.
Hamilton had been wrung by the wayward conduct of her sister, how much
more so must it have been wounded, when she saw so many of those evil
qualities reflected in her child.

At Airslie, so the residence of the Duchess of Rothbury was called,
Caroline found herself universally courted. She knew she was admired,
and she was flattered; but there was a ceaseless gnawing at her heart,
which not even gratified vanity could still. She knew not, would not
know, it was remorse. She believed it was the conduct of her parents;
the chain that was thrown round her actions, her disappointment with
regard to Lord Alphingham; for he was not, as in secret she hoped, he
would be, one of the invited guests. It was a task, a painful task, to
write home, but she forced herself to speak of the scenes around, and
sketch, with a masterly hand, some of the characters with whom she
mingled; and her parents strove to be satisfied, though there was
somewhat wanting in those letters which, when Caroline had been from
home, they had never missed before.

"So that man of learning, that marvellous prodigy, that walking
cyclopaedia, Lord St. Eval, has absolutely deserted us, to bury himself
in Italy or Switzerland. Miss Hamilton, can you explain so wonderful and
puzzling an enigma?" mischievously demanded Lord Henry D'Este, one day,
as he found himself alone near Caroline. His friend's departure had
indeed been to him a riddle, and believing at length that it must have
originated in her caprice, he determined, whenever he had an
opportunity, to revenge St. Eval by doing all in his power to torment
her. A deep blush overspread Caroline's cheeks as he spoke, for except
that Mary Greville's letters had mentioned him, he was never spoken of
at home.

"It ought not to appear a very puzzling riddle to you," she answered
quickly. "He has gone, I should imagine, to collect fresh matters for
reflection, that he may better deserve the title you have bestowed upon
him."

"Nay, nay, surely he has enough of such matters to form four and twenty
good folio volumes," answered Lord He