So they parted, with formal phrases of courtesy from him, with averted eyes, and unwillingly extended hand, and tones of coldest civility from her; and he dashed away, to busy himself in professional duties, while she drove back to Eaton-place, with a flushed cheek, and an aching brow, and a heart wildly throbbing with a strange mixture of remorse, anger, and regret. CHAPTER XIX. “There stood a wretch prepared to change His soul’s redemption for revenge.” ROKEBY. The day after the excursion to Woolwich, Charles Huyton had left London for a short time. Perhaps had he been still in town, Isabel Barham would not have so readily engaged to attend the ceremony. For the last two years it had been the secret object of her life to make herself Mr. Huyton’s wife; yet she was often obliged to confess with regret, that she seemed no nearer to it than before. She managed well, too, with much prudence and discretion and perhaps had not the heart she besieged been pre-engaged, she might have been successful. But such a pursuit could not elevate the tone of her mind, improve her good feelings, or increase her susceptibility to generous emotions. There was no heart in it; it was simply a mercantile transaction. The unconscious worship which Gwyneth bestowed on an idea, embodied to her fancy in the person of Mr. Ufford, was a far more ennobling sensation. She was admiring, sincerely admiring virtue and worth; and though deluding herself in supposing that these were inherent in an extraordinary degree in her idol’s character, she was perfectly unselfish and true in her feelings. When her time came to be undeceived, she would not, at least, have to confess that she had been mean and mercenary, that she deserved to be disappointed, and had no right to complain. Not so Isabel Barham; she was entangling herself, in her own endeavors to catch another; for if she escaped with feelings uninjured by love, she had, at least, a mind debased by cunning efforts, a heart soiled and profaned by being bent on mean objects――worldly pomp and worldly riches. Disappointment was impending over her. Disappointment of the bitterest kind! Mr. Huyton came back to London rather earlier than had been expected; and soon after walked up from his lodgings to Eaton-place, where, as we have already noticed, he spent much of his time. Mr. Barham was within, and after some discussion of political questions, in which he had of late been trying to interest Charles Huyton, the elder gentleman observed casually―― “Miss Barham and her sister are gone down to Woolwich!” “Indeed, again! not to the _Erratic_, I suppose,” said Charles, carelessly. “Not exactly; but connected with the steamer, I believe their engagement is.” “There must have been some strong attraction there, to draw the young ladies out so early.”