"Ah! if it was but he alone that presumed in this room, it would be well; but we often make example of one who is guilty the least." Lord Martindale did not choose to ask an explanation of these words, but, turning to me, requested me to resume my guitar and my song. But I had not yet recovered my emotion, nor perhaps would it have been consistent with my self-respect to comply. Certainly De Walden thought not; for he said in a low voice "_Ma chere amie, de grace ne chantez pas!_"[5] and I was firm in my refusal. [Footnote 5: My dear friend, pray do not sing!] Perhaps it was well that I was not allowed to go on with my song, as the words were only too expressive of my own feelings, for they were as follows:-- SONG. How bright this summer's sun appear'd! How blue to me this summer's sky! While all I saw and all I heard Could charm my ear, could bless my eye. The lonely bower, the splendid crowd, Alike a joy for me possess'd; My heart a charm on all bestow'd, For that confiding heart was _bless'd_. But thou art changed!--and now no more The sun is bright, or blue the sky; Now in the throng, or in the bower, I only mark thy _alter'd eye_. And though midst crowds I still appear, And seem to list the minstrel's strain, I heed it not--I only hear My _own deep sigh_ that mourns in vain. My carriage was announced soon afterwards; and I saw by the manner of both, that Lady Martindale was trying to persuade my husband to stay all night: but as De Walden came with us, propriety, if not inclination, forbade him to comply, and he sullenly enough followed De Walden and me to the carriage. When there, that considerate friend refused to enter it--declaring as it was moon-light he preferred walking home. What a relief was this to my mind! for I dreaded some unpleasant altercation, especially if De Walden expressed the belief which he evidently entertained, that Lady Martindale and Annette Beauvais were the same person. When he entered the carriage my husband threw himself into one corner of it, and remained silent. I expected this: still I did not know how to bear it; for I could not help contrasting the past with the present. Is there--no, there is not--so agonizing a feeling in the catalogue of human suffering, as the first conviction that the heart of the being whom we most tenderly love, is estranged from us? In vain could I pretend to doubt this overwhelming fact. Seymour had resented for another woman, and to me! He had even joined in, and enjoyed, the mean revenge that woman took, though that revenge was a public affront to me! And now in sullen silence, and in still rankling resentment, he was sitting as far from me as he possibly could sit, and the attachment of years seemed in one hour destroyed!