before, from the time when Julius Cæsar took the liberty of introducing them to each other.
Poor Glentworth was gone whole ages in love, and the Signora Margarita by no means behind him in the acquisition of the sentiment, before either was aware that no earthly power could induce the English mother to give her daughter to an English husband professing the religion of his country. She believed, firmly, conscientiously believed, that her own darkness and obstinacy, in being for five or six years the wife of a man professing the true faith and never embracing it, had rendered her amenable to the especial judgments of God, who had seen fit to deprive her of two promising boys, the heirs of her husband's ancient and honourable house, as a punishment. What can we say in such a case? She acted in all sincerity, agreeable to the light which she believed to be "light from Heaven." Who shall blame her?
The count, on the other hand, loved England and all that belonged to it—even the washerwoman who had trusted him had a share of his gratitude; what then did he hold due to the wife of his bosom, the high born, and the rich and beautiful one, who had pitied his misfortunes, loved his person, and bestowed on him alike the wealth of the heart and the purse, finally abandoning the land of her fathers and the religion of her family for his sake. He never for a moment recalled his own history, without bestowing on her the warmest eulogium which gratitude could
