CHAPTER XXXV
Yes, Helen had returned again to her home. Again she was with those dear ones who had never looked at her but with admiration, and never spoken to her but with tenderness—again with those who had encircled her youthful days with blessings and love, and whom she had yearned to see with the deep longing of young affection. But she was not so happy when restored to them—at least, not quite so happy—as she had expected to be: there was a doubt whether she had done what was right; there was a slight feeling of mortification when she compared her sisters with herself, and saw their husbands treated as sons of the house, while she had returned unaccompanied by hers. She felt discontented with her own loneliness as she saw their fullness of companionship. The harsh words that used to terrify her were softened down by time and absence; they faded away as all offences will fade when the heart is tender and the mind well regulated; and the glowing words of love, the deep tones of passionate adoration, came back—
"Apparelled in more precious habit,
More moving delicate, and full of life,"
than when she heard them from the lips of her husband. Sometimes the recollection of them stirred her very soul, and she pondered over them till she wondered at her own coldness, till she hated herself for not having prized them more, and began to pine for that from which she had voluntarily fled.
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