of the fair face on which one beloved eye seemed never fated to rest again? Rank she had; but he to whom it equalled her was now an exile; and wealth—but what of that, unless it could be shared with Robert Evelyn? Alas, how little chance did there seem to be of their ever meeting! He had been excepted by name from the general amnesty—would never, in all human probability, hear of his brother's treachery—and could look upon her in no other light than as ungrateful and inconstant. She had not the poor comfort of thinking that he dwelt upon her memory,—even in heart they were separated.
Drearily did the winter exhaust itself, equally without interest and without occupation. It was obvious that Lord Avonleigh considered the past entirely expiated by his tardy acknowledgment; he had given justice, but his daughter also asked affection—that he gave not, and indeed had it not to give. He associated her in idea with his lost son, and, by a strange and unjust connexion, in a degree reproached her as the cause of his bereavement. Common minds always blame some one or other for every misfortune that happens; complaint relieves them, and their style of complaint is always personal. And yet it was wonderful how he got over the loss; he soon fell into his ordinary round of
