It was the eventful period of my life--my brother was absent, and the quarter-master occupied generally with friends at home, or in the arrangement of some village differences. Hence the intimacy of Seymour and myself was unrestricted; and in a short time he obtained over my young affections a complete ascendancy. And yet our course of love, even from the beginning, did not run smooth. Our relative positions in society were far removed: I, the daughter of an humble soldier--he, the younger son of a family old* as the Conquest, and high and haughty even beyond what their ancient lineage would warrant. Could it be expected by me that they would approve of their kinsman’s choice, and receive a relative with neither birth nor fortune to recommend her, and whose sole possession was a blameless reputation and an honest name? Seymour himself, undesignedly, betrayed a similar uneasiness, hinting that it might be advisable to break the matter by degrees, and cautiously prepare his family for the disclosure. To effect this important object, a secret marriage would be necessary. His interests must be dear to me as to himself. It was a proof of my confidence in him that circumstances demanded,--and one, if given, that would bind him to me for ever. “What will not woman when she loves?” Would not a village girl, influenced by a first passion, listen favourably to a suitor’s pleading, and consult the heart rather than the judgment? For me Seymour had forsaken rank and wealth, and perilled the displeasure of his family; and should I not, in return, sacrifice largely where his interests were involved? Love’s sophistry was unanswerable. I gave a timid consent,--we were united in another parish; and so well had arrangements been made to ensure concealment, that, with the exception of one chosen friend, to all besides our marriage remained a secret. Of this occurrence my father had not the most remote suspicion; and William’s absence from home gave us facilities for frequent meetings that could not otherwise have happened. For a fortnight, Seymour continued a nominal lodger at the Rose and Crown,--but most of his time was passed in my society. At my father’s table he had a constant place, while the honest quarter-master little dreamed that in his high-born guest he might have claimed a son-in-law. The hour of sorrow was at hand. Letters,--most unwelcome ones,--were received. My husband seemed heavily depressed; and when urged to tell the cause of his uneasiness, mentioned that he had been suddenly recalled to join his regiment, and apprised me that the term of his absence was dependent upon some military movements; and consequently, that his return must be uncertain. This unexpected separation caused me the first real sorrow I had yet endured; and, alas! harbingered too faithfully, the misery and misfortunes which followed in quick succession.