It was about ten days after this conversation that Godolphin, waiting at a hotel in Dover the hour at which the packet set sail for Calais, took up the Morning Post; and the first passage that met his eye was the one which I transcribe:-- “Marriage in High Life.--On Thursday last, at Wendover Castle, the Earl of Erpingham, to Constance, only daughter of the celebrated Mr. Vernon. The bride was dressed, &c., ----” And then followed the trite, yet pompous pageantry of words--the sounding nothings--with which ladies who become countesses are knelled into marriage. “The dream is over!” said Godolphin mournfully, as the paper fell to the ground; and, burying his face within his hands, he remained motionless till they came to announce the moment of departure. And thus Percy Godolphin left, for the second time, his native shores. When we return to him, what changes will the feelings now awakened within him, have worked in his character! The drops that trickle within the cavern harden, yet brighten into spars as they indurate. Nothing is more polished, nothing more cold, than that wisdom which is the work of former tears, of former passions, and is formed within a musing and solitary mind! CHAPTER XXII. THE BRIDE ALONE.--A DIALOGUE POLITICAL AND MATRIMONIAL.--CONSTANCE’S GENIUS FOR DIPLOMACY.--THE CHARACTER OF HER ASSEMBLIES.--HER CONQUEST OVER LADY DELVILLE. “Bring me that book; place that table nearer; and leave me.” The Abigail obeyed the orders, and the young Countess of Erpingham was alone. Alone! what a word for a young and beautiful bride in the first months of her marriage! Alone! and in the heart of that mighty city in which rank and wealth--and they were hers--are the idols adored by millions. It was a room fancifully and splendidly decorated. Flowers and perfumes were, however, its chief luxury; and from the open window you might see the trees in the old Mall deepening into the rich verdure of June. That haunt, too--a classical haunt for London--was at the hour I speak of full of gay and idle life; and there was something fresh and joyous in the air, the sun, and the crowd of foot and horse that swept below. Was the glory gone from your brow, Constance?--or the proud gladness from your eye? Alas! are not the blessings of the world like the enchanted bullets?--that which pierces our heart is united with the gift which our heart desired! Lord Erpingham entered the room. “Well, Constance,” said he, “shall you ride on horseback to-day?” “I think not.” “Then I wish you would call on Lady Delville. You see Delville is of my party: we sit together. You should be very civil to her, and I did not think you were so the other night.” “You wish Lady Delville to support your political interest; and, if I mistake not, you think her at present lukewarm?” “Precisely.”