This was her one consolation in the thought of his absence--his exile. Had he been in England, how readily would he have fallen into those machinations which she guessed his mother would have been only too ready to plot! She knew he was thousands of miles away; and the thought that she was freed from rivalry in a great measure reconciled her to his absence. She could hold him in her heart of hearts as her own only love; there was no one, in her thoughts, to dispute her power over him. He was hers,--hers alone. And he had obtained an additional interest in her eyes since she had discovered his identity. Now she would cultivate that acquaintance with his people,--all unknowingly she should be able to ally herself more closely to him. Casual questions would bring direct answers--all bearing on the topic nearest her heart: without in the smallest degree betraying her own secret, she would be able to feed her own love-flame,--to hear of, to talk of him for whom every pulse of her heart throbbed and yearned. Did it never occur to her to catechise that heart, to endeavour to portray vividly to herself the abyss on the brink of which she was standing,--to ask herself whether she was prepared to abnegate all sense of gratitude and duty, and to persevere in the course which--not recklessly, not in a moment of passion, but calmly and unswervingly--she had begun to tread? Yes; she had catechised herself often, had ruthlessly probed her own heart, had acknowledged her baseness and ingratitude, yet had found it impossible to struggle against the pervading thrall. Worse than all, the sight of the man to whom she owed every thing--comfort, respectability, almost life itself,--the sight of him patiently labouring for her sake had become oppressive to her; from calmly suffering it, she had come to loathe and rebel against it. Ah, what a contrast between the present dull, dreary, weary round and the bright old days of the past! To her, and to her alone, was the time then dedicated. She would not then have been left to sit alone, occupying her time as best she might, but every instant would have been devoted to her; and let come what might on the morrow, that time would have been spent in gaiety.