the fancy of an elderly English nobleman with a
large family of grown-up sons and daughters. My dear, it was a very
heartless piece of work: it changed Giles completely. He never spoke
about it to any one, but if ever a man was heart-broken, Giles was: he
was never the same after that; it made him hard and bitter; he is always
railing against women, or saying disagreeable home-truths about them. And
of course Mrs. Carrick, or rather Lady Howe, is to blame for that. Oh, my
dear, she may deck herself with diamonds, as they say she does, and call
herself happy,--which she is not, with a gouty, ill-tempered old husband
who is jealous of her,--but I'll be bound she thinks of Giles sometimes
with regret, and scorns herself for her folly.'

Poor Mr. Hamilton! And this had all happened about six or seven years
ago. No wonder he looked stern and said bitter things. He was not
naturally sweet-tempered, like Max; such a misfortune would sour him.

'All well,' I said to myself, as I went up to bed, 'it is perfectly true
what Longfellow says, "Into each life some rain must fall, some days must
be dark and dreary"; but it is strange that they both have suffered. It
is a good thing, perhaps, that such an experience is never likely to
happen to me. There is some consolation to be deduced even from my want
of beauty: no man will fall in love with me and then play me false.' And
with that a curious feeling came over me, a sudden inexplicable sense of
want and loneliness, something I could not define, that took no definite
shape and had no similitude, and yet haunted me with a sense of ill; but
the next moment I was struggling fiercely with the unknown and unwelcome
guest.

'For shame!' I said to myself; 'this is weakness and pure selfishness,
mere sentimental feverishness; this is not like the strong-minded young
person Miss Darrell calls me. What if loneliness be appointed me?--we
must each have our cross. Perhaps, as life goes on and I grow older, it
may be a little hard to bear at times, but my loneliness would be better
than the sort of pain Mr. Hamilton and Max have endured.' And as I
thought this, a sudden conviction came to me that I could not have borne
a like fate, a dim instinct that told me that I should suffer keenly and
long,--that it would be better, far better, that the deepest instincts of
my woman's nature should never be roused than be kindled only to die away
into ashes, as many women's affections have been suffered t