s, my heart has had nothing to feed on but the one hope
that is now being realized at last. No sympathy between my husband and
me (on the contrary, a horrid unacknowledged enmity, which has always
kept us apart); my father and mother, in their time both wretched about
my marriage, and with good reason; my only sister dying in poverty--what
a life for a childless woman! don't let us dwell on it any longer.

"Goodbye for the present, Amelius. I beg you will not think I am always
wretched. When I want to be happy, I look to the coming time."

This melancholy letter added to the depression that weighed on the
spirits of Amelius. It inspired him with vague fears for Mrs. Farnaby.
In her own interests, he would have felt himself tempted to consult
Rufus (without mentioning names), if the American had been in London. As
things were, he put the letter back in his pocket with a sigh. Even Mrs.
Farnaby, in her sad moments, had a consoling prospect to contemplate.
"Everybody but me!" Amelius thought.

His reflections were interrupted by the appearance of an idle young
member of the club, with whom he was acquainted. The new-comer remarked
that he looked out of spirits, and suggested that they should dine
together and amuse themselves somewhere in the evening. Amelius accepted
the proposal: any man who offered him a refuge from himself was a friend
to him on that day. Departing from his temperate habits, he deliberately
drank more than usual. The wine excited him for the time, and then left
him more depressed than ever; and the amusements of the evening produced
the same result. He returned to his cottage so completely disheartened,
that he regretted the day when he had left Tadmor.

But he kept his appointment, the next morning, to take leave of Regina.

The carriage was at the door, with a luggage-laden cab waiting behind
it. Mr. Farnaby's ill-temper vented itself in predictions that they
would be too late to catch the train. His harsh voice, alternating
with Regina's meek remonstrances, reached the ears of Amelius from the
breakfast-room. "I'm not going to wait for the gentleman-Socialist,"
Mr. Farnaby announced, with his hardest sarcasm of tone. "Dear uncle,
we have a quarter of an hour to spare!" "We have nothing of the sort;
we want all that time to register the luggage." The servant's voice was
heard next. "Mr. Goldenheart, miss." Mr. Farnaby instantly stepped into
the hall. "Goodbye!" he called to Amelius, through the op