'Without such hope I will never marry.--How lovely is the day,' she added, as if to change the subject: 'and how beautiful, in the full flood of this summer sky, appears the silvery light upon the waves of the Orwell. Dear father, I imagine no moments of this life can be more pleasant, more truly grateful, than when I contemplate the features of nature, and find a tranquillity within, that cheers me with the hope of one day enjoying far brighter scenes.' 'You are young, my dear child, and though learned in many works, and constantly employed in the cheerful studies of nature and religion, you know but little of the struggles of life, which thousands have to make. You may see something of them among the poor, but you are not aware of many thousand trials to which men of the highest grades of society are exposed. Scarcely one of those books which so delight us, and expand our intellects, but was produced in poverty and sorrow. And even now, at this very time that I am speaking, I fear that the passions and prejudices of men will not suffer the truth to prevail without a struggle severe, even unto death.' 'Truth will prevail at last, however. As it is so powerful, it will shine more gloriously through the very clouds which would obscure it.' 'You are right, my child; but as yet you know but few hardships. Your days smile, your nights are bright like the stars, and you view everything with the eyes of innocence.' 'You seemed inclined to reprove me for my too great sensibility in the matter of the dead dolphins; but that very weakness proves that I saw not with the eyes of indifference the cruelties of mankind.' 'That is rather an extreme case, my child. In the world you will find persons still more cruel in the persecution of their own species; and could you bear such scenes?' 'I know not if I may ever see such; I will not anticipate them, but will trust that, should they come, I may be prepared with strength of mind to endure them.' 'Spoken as I would have you speak, my daughter, and like yourself. I wish for nothing more than such fortification for myself or you.' At that moment an announcement was given, that a messenger from Goldwell Hall (or, as it is now known, Coldwell or Cauldwell Hall) had arrived at the castle. 'I suppose,' said Ellen, 'that Bishop Goldwell has arrived at his palace of Wykes; and yet the messenger, I hear, is from Goldwell Hall, the seat of his deceased brother. We shall have to fulfil our engagement, father, and visit him in Suffolk. Alice--the proud and stately Alice--is to accompany him, and she was very kind to me when I was but a child. We have not seen them for a long while. She will scarcely know me. I wonder, my father, we have not heard from our cousin, Thomas Wolsey, lately.'