Before he regained his home, Godolphin’s resolve was taken. The next day he had promised Constance to attend her to Tivoli; he resolved then to take leave of her, and on the following day to return to Lucilla. He remembered, with bitter reproach, that he had not written to her for a length of time, treble the accustomed interval between his letters; and felt that, while at the moment she had written the lines he had now pressed to his bosom, she was expecting, with unutterable fondness and anxiety, to receive his lukewarm assurances of continued love, the letter he was about to write in answer to hers was the first one that would greet her eyes. But he resolved, that in that letter, at least, she should not be disappointed. He wrote at length, and with all the outpourings of a tenderness reawakened by remorse. He informed her of his immediate return, and even forced himself to dwell upon it with kindly hypocrisy of transport. For the first time for several weeks, he felt satisfied with himself as he sealed his letter. It is doubtful whether that letter Lucilla ever received. CHAPTER XL. TIVOLI.--THE SIREN’S CAVE.--THE CONFESSION. Along the deathly Campagna, a weary and desolate length of way,--through a mean and squalid row of houses--you thread your course; and behold--Tivoli bursts upon you! “Look--look!” cried Constance, with enthusiasm, as she pointed to the rushing torrent that, through matted trees and cragged precipices, thundered on. Astonished at the silence of Godolphin, whom scenery was usually so wont to kindle and inspire, she turned hastily round, and her whole tide of feeling was revulsed by the absorbed but intense dejection written on his countenance. “Why,” said she, after a short pause, and affecting a playful smile, “why, how provoking is this! In general, not a common patch of green with an old tree in the centre, not a common rivulet with a willow hanging over it, escapes you. You insist upon our sharing your raptures--you dilate on the picturesque--you rise into eloquence; nay, you persuade us into your enthusiasm, or you quarrel with us for our coldness; and now, with this divinest of earthly scenes around us,--when even Lady Charlotte is excited, and Mr. Saville forgets himself, you are stricken into silence and apathy! The reason--if it be not too abstruse?” “It is here!” said Godolphin, mournfully, and pressing his hand to his heart.