make her home like the eyrie of the eagle,
lofty, but bleak. While she, whose affections alone are the foundation
of her happiness, will find that the nest of the dove, though pleasant
and downy in the sunshine, will furnish no shelter from the fierce
storms and tempestuous winds of life."

"Oh, Mrs. Linwood! Is domestic happiness a houseless wanderer? Has it no
home on earth?"

"Yes, my love, in the heart of the woman whose highest aim is the glory
of God,--whose next, the excellence and happiness of her husband; who
considers her talents, her affections, and her beauty as gifts from the
Almighty hand, for whose use she must one day render an account; whose
heart is a censer where holy incense is constantly ascending, perfuming
and sanctifying the atmosphere of home. Such is the woman who pleaseth
the Lord. Such, I trust, will be my beloved Gabriella."

By conversations like these, almost daily renewed, did this admirable,
high-minded, and God-fearing woman endeavor to prepare me for the
exalted position to which love had raised me. This was a happy period of
my life. The absence of Richard Clyde, though a source of regret, was a
great blessing, as it removed the most prominent object of jealousy from
Ernest's path. An occasional cloud, a sudden coldness, and an
unaccountable reserve, sometimes reminded me of the dangerous passion
whose shadow too often follows the footsteps of love. But in the
retirement of rural life, surrounded by the sweet, pure influences of
nature, the best elements of character were called into exercise.

The friends whom Mrs. Linwood gathered around her were not the idle
devotees of fashion,--the parasites of wealth; but intelligent, literary
people, whose society was a source of improvement as well as pleasure.
Sometimes, circumstances of commanding character forced her to receive
as guests those whom her judgment would never have selected, as in the
case of Madge Wildfire; but in general it was a distinction to be
invited to Grandison Place, whose elegant hospitalities were the boast
of the town to which it belonged.

The only drawback to my happiness was the pensiveness that hung like a
soft cloud over the spirits of Edith. She was still kind and
affectionate to me; but the sweet unreserve of former intercourse was
gone. I had come between her and her brother's heart. I was the shadow
on her dial of flowers, that made their bloom wither. I never walked
with Ernest alone without fearing