her, and putting his arm round her, caused her to raise her head, and he then began to console her by the commonplaces poured into the ears of mourners. Alas! poor Isabella wept for herself, for the blighted hopes, the gloomy vista of life before her—for that bitter mortification which told her she had laboured to no end, endured to no purpose, placed herself in the most cruel position ever occupied by any human being without obtaining the reward due to her love and her sorrow, due even for her humility. At length she said slowly, in reply:
"I do not doubt one word that you say; I believe she is happy, very happy. I am sure she ought to be an object of my envy now, as much as she was one of my love and admiration lately."
"Then you will not cry again, Isabella, in that terrible way."
"I never cry when I can help it, for mamma never allowed what she called 'puling misses.' God only knows how much I have felt in the last three weeks, yet I have not troubled you with complaints and tears! Of course, after receiving my cousin's last breath, listening to the last words she uttered, obeying her last injunctions at a hazard I felt terrific; to have another parting to go through is hard. But—I am not a child, Glentworth; I can remain, but I wish not to remain in this place. I am no longer the meet companion of di Morello's servants."
"What have I been thinking of!" exclaimed
