gretted that situation, again regretted her elevation to a height which would render more conspicuous the melancholy she wished to conceal from every eye.
"The sadness that marks my brow will make me appear ungrateful to heaven, (cried she) for the wonderful change it has effected in my father's favour; and what ill-natured speculations may not be excited by seeing one so young so hopeless!"
Severely, however, did her heart reproach her for regretting that change—a change which removed from the memory of her grandmother the obloquy that had been so long attached to it.
From the sufferings of her grandmother her thoughts naturally reverted to those of her father, and the more she reflected on his narrative, the more firmly convinced she was that much of his life remained untold;—the recollected words of her departed friend confirmed this opinion.
