She was, however, convinced, that a longer residence under Lord Delaford’s roof would not be conducive either to the peace or the purity of her mind. She had been considering what excuse she should make for wishing to return to Elmsley Priory, when, in the course of conversation, Lord Delaford one day spoke of her presence, her example, her advice, as the pillar on which he rested his hope of reclaiming Isabella to the quiet duties of a wife, and he entreated her to use all her influence over her cousin towards the accomplishment of this object. This request gave a new current to her thoughts. If it was true that she had influence over Isabella, that she might reclaim her from the worldly course she seemed likely to run, would she be justified in leaving her friend at this moment? If she could be the means of causing his happiness, though through another, would she refuse to attempt it? People often argue themselves into believing it their duty to do what their inclination prompts. In this case, however, Fanny really wished to find herself once more under her father’s roof. She trembled at the undertaking before her—she felt a salutary fear and doubt of her own heart, which she had found so weak, and she humbly strengthened herself for the task imposed upon her. She looked with satisfaction to the prospect of being really useful to others, and she thought that, next to being the object of his love, the most enviable situation was to be the object of his gratitude. Modest and unpresuming, she had never ventured to remonstrate seriously with Isabella upon her mode of life; indeed, she had always experienced a degree of shyness in alluding to Lord Delaford, and to the feelings of a wife, which had prevented her saying what she might naturally have done. She had also an instinctive horror of interfering between man and wife—on most occasions, a praiseworthy fear; but which, in complying with Lord Delaford’s wishes, she thought it right to overcome. But how to introduce the subject? Common and trite observations upon the duties of matrimony, she knew would only excite Isabella’s raillery upon her antiquated notions; but perhaps, by alarming her fears, she might have some chance of arresting her attention. Fanny was so little accustomed to having any plan, any ulterior object in her communications with her fellow-creatures, that her heart beat, and she felt almost guilty, as she seized the first opportunity when they were alone, to say,— “I wonder, Isabella, you are not afraid of quite losing Lord Delaford’s affections.” “Quite lose his affections, Fanny! What can you mean? I certainly do not anticipate any such misfortune,” she answered, smiling; and her eye glanced complacently over the mirror, at which she was trying on the hat which she was to wear that evening at a _bal costumé_. “Why, my dear Isabella, you must be aware he is not what he was—that your indifference is beginning to have a corresponding effect upon him.”