rely pious, so
generously disinterested she was; and the transformation she had
accomplished was astonishing.

And was she as happy herself as she made others? Nobody at the Hazels
thought of exactly asking that question. And yet they might have
reflected a little, and inquired, whether to one, the source of so much
comfort to others, the natural felicity of her age was not denied?

Could a young being like _her_ be _very_ happy, living with two old
people, and without one single companion of her own age? Without
prospect, without interest in that coming life, which the young
imagination paints in such lovely colors?

One may boldly affirm she was _not_ so happy as she deserved to be, and
that it was quite impossible, with a heart formed for every tender
affection as was hers, that she _should_.

She began to be visited by a troublesome guest, which in the days of
hardship she had never known. The very ease which surrounded her, the
exemption from all necessity for laborious industry actually increasing
the evil, gradually seemed to grow upon her. There was a secret distaste
for life--a void in the heart, not filled by natural affections--a
something which asked for tenderer relations, more earnest duties--a
home--a household--a family of her own!

She blamed herself very much when first this little secret feeling of
dissatisfaction and discontent began to steal over her. How could she be
so ungrateful? She had every comfort in the world--more, much more, than
she had any title to expect; infinitely more than many far more
deserving than herself were allowed to enjoy. Why could she not have the
same light contented spirit within her breast, that had carried her
triumphantly through so many hardships, and enlivened so many clouded
days?

Poor Lettice! It was vain to find fault with herself. Life would seem
flat. The mere routine of duties, unsweetened by natural affection,
would weary the spirit at times. There was a sweetness wanting to
existence--and existence, without that invigorating sweetness, is to the
best of us a tedious and an exhausting thing.

So thought Catherine, when, about eighteen months or two years after her
marriage, she came for the first time with Edgar to visit her father
and mother.

The regimental duties of the young officer had carried him to the Ionian
Islands very shortly after his marriage; promotion had brought him home,
and he and his young and happy wife, with a sweet infant of a