gay and bright and rich. Even
when George had come on his last wretched visit to Humblethwaite,
when she had known that he had been brought there as a blackamoor
perhaps just capable of being washed white, she had not thought it
necessary to lessen the gauds of her attire. Though she was saddened
in her joy by the knowledge of the man's faults, she was still the
rich daughter of a very wealthy man, and engaged to marry the future
inheritor of all that wealth and riches. There was then no reason why
she should lower her flag one inch before the world. But now all was
changed with her! During the night she had thought of her apparel,
and of what use it might be during her future life. She would never
more go bright again, unless some miracle might prevail, and he still
might be to her that which she had painted him. Neither father nor
mother, as she kissed them both, said a word as to her appearance.
They must take her away from Humblethwaite, change the scene, try to
interest her in new pursuits; that was what they had determined to
attempt. For the present, they would let her put on what clothes she
pleased, and make no remark.

Early in the day she went out by herself. It was now December, but
the weather was fine and dry, and she was for two hours alone,
rambling through the park. She had made her attempt in life, and had
failed. She owned her failure to herself absolutely. The image had no
gold in it;--none as yet. But it was not as other images, which, as
they are made, so must they remain to the end. The Divine Spirit,
which might from the first have breathed into this clay some particle
of its own worth, was still efficacious to bestow the gift. Prayer
should not be wanting; but the thing as it now was she saw in all its
impurity. He had never loved her. Had he loved her he would not have
written words such as those she had read. He had pretended to love
her in order that he might have money, that his debts might be paid,
that he might not be ruined. "He hoped," he said in his letter, "he
hoped that his cousin might be made happy by a splendid alliance!"
She remembered well the abominable, heartless words. And this was
the man who had pledged her to truth and firmness, and whose own
truth and firmness she had never doubted for a moment, even when
acknowledging to herself the necessity of her pledge to him. He had
never loved her; and, though she did not say so, did not think so,
she felt that of all his sins that