“I confess to you,” said Godolphin, “that I have little faith in the permanence of any attachment professed for the country by the inhabitants of cities. If we can occupy our minds solely with the objects around us,--if the brook and the old tree, and the golden sunset, and the summer night, and the animal and homely life that we survey,--if these can fill our contemplation, and take away from us the feverish schemes of the future,--then indeed I can fully understand the reality of that tranquil and happy state which our elder poets have described as incident to a country life. But if we carry with us to the shade all the restless and perturbed desires of the city; if we only employ present leisure in schemes for an agitated future--then it is in vain that we affect the hermit and fly to the retreat. The moment the novelty of green fields is over, and our projects are formed, we wish to hurry to the city to execute them. We have, in a word, made our retirement only a nursery for schemes now springing up, and requiring to be transplanted.” “You are right,” said Constance, quickly; “and who would pass life as if it were a dream? It seems to me that we put retirement to the right use when we make it only subservient to our aims in the world.” “A strange doctrine for a young beauty,” thought Godolphin, “whose head ought to be full of groves and love.” “Then,” said he aloud, “I must rank among those who abuse the purposes of retirement; for I have hitherto been flattered to think that I enjoy it for itself. Despite the artificial life I have led, everything that speaks of nature has a voice that I can rarely resist. What feelings created in a city can compare with those that rise so gently and so unbidden within us when the trees and the waters are our only companions--our only sources of excitement and intoxication? Is not contemplation better than ambition?” “Can you believe it?” said Constance, incredulously. “I do.” Constance smiled; and there would have been contempt in that beautiful smile, had not Godolphin interested her in spite of herself. CHAPTER XV. THE FEELINGS OF CONSTANCE AND GODOLPHIN TOWARDS EACH OTHER.--THE DISTINCTION IN THEIR CHARACTERS.--REMARKS ON THE EFFECTS PRODUCED BY THE WORLD UPON GODOLPHIN.--THE HIDE.--RURAL DESCRIPTIONS.--OMENS.--THE FIRST INDISTINCT CONFESSION. Every day, at the hour in which Constance was visible, Godolphin had loaded the keeper, and had returned to attend upon her movements. They walked and rode together; and in the evening, Godolphin hung over her chair, and listened to her songs; for though, as I have before said, she had but little science in instrumental music, her voice was rich and soft beyond the pathos of ordinary singers.