"No, no--it is not there!" cried Julia, clasping her hands--"it is not there! My heart was given to kindness. I would have loved him faithfully, but I was banished from his presence--second to his artful mother in his thoughts--betrayed by the person I most trusted--proscribed as the mistress of his house. Many women would have resented the indignities I have borne--but I have flown from the temptations which surrounded me, and my father has given me shelter. Oh! you have sacrificed me, but do not upbraid me--I have done no wrong to any one. Why should _you_ look hardly upon me, who promised me happiness, and have broken its fulfilment? Poor Clara! how we have suffered for our fault. My father warned me of my wickedness!" "Did _I_ not warn you, Lady Ennismore?" asked Lady Wetheral, with a raised complexion, as she beheld, unmoved, poor Julia's suppliant attitude. "Did _I_ not say, I scorned a woman who was mean enough to seek the world's upbraiding by her conduct? You were the Countess of Ennismore--your flight has brought down obloquy upon the name. Who will believe the statement of a runaway? Who will believe the fugitive Lady Ennismore has been unaccompanied in her flight? The voice of the world will be loud in censure upon the step you have taken." "Oh, my father, my father! save me from the world--save me from reproaches like these!" exclaimed Julia, rising from her prostrate attitude, and endeavouring to quit the room; but her mother caught her dress, and detained her. There was something awful in the expression of her countenance, as she addressed Lady Ennismore. "If a mother sacrifices her time and endeavours to form a child's happiness, has she not a right to expect its completion? Did I not act for you--think for you--and labour for you? Did I not place you in affluence and grandeur? Are you not the Countess of Ennismore? Tell me, are you not Countess of Ennismore, the mistress of princely Bedinfield?" "I am the unfortunate and unhappy wife of Lord Ennismore," answered Julia, "the nominal mistress of Bedinfield, but the real proprietor of only sorrow and degradation." "Away with such folly!" cried Lady Wetheral, with vehemence; "let me not hear such mad complaints, such horrible madness! Have you not all that is coveted by human beings?--state, high rank, wealth, and influence? What does your arrogant heart covet _now_? What do you presume to wish, beyond the splendid lot you have obtained?" "Happiness--I ask for happiness! I ask for my husband's heart--I ask for domestic peace," replied Julia, pressing her forehead with her trembling hands. "I ask for the simple pleasures of domestic peace. I will not accept grandeur without them!"