“Alas!” thought Emmeline, “again he will accuse me of braving him; of purposely wounding his feelings!” and it was with difficulty she could conceal from Mr. Moore how much he had discomposed her. The next day, when she went through the gallery, the door of Fitzhenry’s room chanced to be open, and as her eyes eagerly wandered into it, she observed that the two drawings had disappeared from over the chimney. What this meant, she could but too well guess: she plainly saw that he suspected her of meanly endeavouring to pry into his feelings, and to trace each thought inimical to herself, with a view (perhaps he concluded) to gain at least the power of tormenting him, when hopeless of obtaining any other. “Oh, Fitzhenry!” thought she, “will the time ever come, when you will know me better, and learn to do me justice?” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VII. Call ye the city gay? its revels joyous? —They may be so to you; for ye are young (Belike) and happy. She is young in years, But often in mid-spring will blighting winds Do Autumn’s work: and there is pain of heart That doth the work of time; can cloud the brow, And pale the cheek, and sober down the spirit. This gewgaw scene hath fewer charms for her, Than for the crone, who, numbering sixty winters, Pronounceth it all folly.—Wonder not ’Tis left thus willingly. OLD PLAY. PARLIAMENT met early this year, and Lord Fitzhenry signified his intention of being in town at its opening. The party at Arlingford, therefore, before long, dispersed different ways; and, with a heavy heart, Emmeline went to settle herself in Grosvenor-street. Young as she was, and disposed for gaiety as she had been but a few months past, she could, in her circumstances, only look to the world and to the routine of fashionable life in London with dismay. She would be thrown into a totally new society, where she had not a friend, scarcely an acquaintance. Had Fitzhenry been to her what he ought, how proudly would she, at her lover’s side, have shown herself to an admiring world, as the being he had chosen. But this was not the situation of Emmeline, and she shrunk with a feeling of apprehension from the tumult in which she would be left deserted and solitary. She foresaw, too, that a London life would necessarily throw her and her husband more apart; for, little as she saw of him in the country, yet still in the course of the day she was certain of being in his society and of hearing his voice, although seldom now addressed in conversation to herself. In town, it would be easier for him to avoid her, and she much feared he would take advantage of the opportunities offered.