r a fervent prayer rose from the human heart, it ascended from
mine, that I might prove worthy of this trust, that I might preserve it
unblemished, with a constant reference to the eye that cannot be
deceived, and the judgment that cannot err.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

The first misfortune of my married life, came in the person of Margaret
Melville. She burst into the boudoir one morning like a young tornado,
seizing me in her strong arms, and giving me a shower of kisses, before
I had time to recover from my astonishment.

Ernest and myself were seated side by side by the escritoire. He was
reading,--I was writing to Edith, little dreaming of the interruption at
hand.

"My dear creature," she exclaimed, with one of her inimitable ringing
laughs, "how _do_ you _do_? You didn't think of seeing me, I know you
didn't. Where did I come from? I dropped down from the upper
regions,--you do not believe that. Well, I came with a party of friends,
who wanted me to keep them alive. They are stopping at the Astor House.
By the way, my trunks are there,--you may send for them as soon as you
please. (Her trunks! she had come for a long visit, then!) There is my
bonnet, mantilla, and gloves,--here _I_ am, body and soul,--what a
glorious lounge,--good old Cr[oe]sus, what a palace you are in,--I never
saw any thing so magnificent! Why, this is worth getting married for! If
I ever marry, it shall be to a rich man, and one who will let me do just
as I please, too."

Ernest in vain endeavored to conceal his vexation at this unexpected
innovation on the elegant quietude and romantic seclusion of our home.
His countenance expressed it but too plainly, and Margaret, careless as
she was, must have observed it. It did not appear to disconcert her,
however. She had not waited for an invitation,--she did not trouble
herself about a welcome. She had come for her own amusement, and
provided that was secured, she cared not for our gratification.

I can hardly explain my own feelings. I always dreaded coming in contact
with her rudeness; there was no sympathy in our natures, and yet I
experienced a sensation of relief while listening to her bubbling and
effervescent nonsense. My mind had been kept on so high a tone, there
was a strain, a tension, of which I was hardly conscious till the
bowstring was slackened. Besides, she was associated with the
recollections of Grandison Place,--she was a young person of my own sex,
and she could talk to m