Farewell! If I might come again, Young as I was and free, And feel once more in every vein The fire of that first passion reign Which sorrow could not quench nor pain, I’d soon return to thee; But while thy billows seek the main. That never more may be! This was dated ‘Mornington, 1829.’ The duchess felt a hand press her shoulder and she looked up. The force of attraction had its natural results and she clung to what she saw. ‘Adrian! Adrian!’ was all her lips would utter. ‘Mary! Mary!’ replied the duke, allowing her to hang about him; ‘what brought you here? Are you running away: eloping in my absence?’ ‘Adrian, why did you leave me? You said you would come back in a week, and it is eight days since you left me; do come home!’ ‘So you actually have set off in search of a husband,’ said Zamorna, laughing heartily; ‘and been overturned and obliged to take shelter in Pakenham’s shooting-box!’ ‘Why are you here, Adrian?’ enquired the duchess, who was far too much in earnest to join in his laugh. ‘Who is Pakenham? and who is that person who calls herself his housekeeper? And why do you let any one live so near Hawkscliffe without ever telling me?’ ‘I forgot to tell you,’ said His Grace; ‘I’ve other things to think about when those bright eyes are looking up to me! As to Pakenham, to tell you the truth he is a sort of left-hand cousin of your own, being son to the old admiral, my uncle, in the south. And his housekeeper is his sister. _Voilà tout_. Kiss me now.’ The duchess did kiss him, but it was with a heavy sigh. The cloud of jealous anxiety hung on her brow undissipated. ‘Adrian, my heart aches still. Why have you been staying so long in Angria? Oh, you don’t care for me! You have never thought how miserably I have been longing for your return, Adrian!’ She stopped and cried. ‘Mary, recollect yourself,’ said His Grace. ‘I cannot be always at your feet. You were not so weak when we were first married. You let me leave you often then without any jealous remonstrance.’ ‘I did not know you so well at that time,’ said Mary; ‘and if my mind is weakened, all its strength has gone away in tears and terrors for you. I am neither so handsome nor so cheerful as I once was. But you ought to forgive my decay, because you have caused it.’