"'Tis said that absence conquers love, But, oh, believe it not; I've tried, alas, its power to prove, But thou art not forgot. Lady, though fate has bid us part, Yet still thou art so dear, As fixed in this devoted heart As when I clasped thee here. "I plunge into the busy crowd And smile to hear thy name, And yet as if I thought aloud, They know me still the same. And when the wine-cup passes round, I toast some other fair-- But when I ask my heart the sound, Thy name is echoed there. "E'en as the wounded bird will seek Its favorite bower to die, So, lady, I would hear thee speak, And yield my parting sigh. 'Tis said that absence conquers love, But, oh, believe it not; I've tried, alas, its power to prove, But thou art not forgot." When her brother and his friends had gone up to London it seemed very lonely to Lady Amy at Raneleigh. "Mamma, I hope you will take me to America some time for a long visit; I like Americans so much!" she cried, artlessly. "So do I," returned her mother, and then she sighed softly to herself. Who can tell what memories stirred her heart of days of bellehood in New York, when, for plain ambition's sake, she had put aside a plain, untitled lover to wed Lord Putnam and reign at Castle Raneleigh? They had told her, her maneuvering relatives, that love would be sure to come after marriage. "But what if I already love another?" the beautiful belle had said, pale with anxiety. "You will soon forget him on the other side of the ocean, and Lord Putnam will have all your heart," they answered. They were old in experience, and she was young, so she took their advice, and married her titled lover. Perhaps their assurances proved true, perhaps not. At any rate, she was a faithful wife. But she was not by any means a disconsolate widow. And at her daughter's praise of Americans, the proud woman's heart echoed every word, and her thoughts flew across the sea to the old home, and the old days, and the old love. Perhaps he was dead now. She had not heard of him for many years. Or if he were not dead, he was probably married to another, to some true-hearted girl who prized love above all else. There was a sting in the thought, and Lady Putnam sighed and turned away without promising her daughter to take her to America. She had no desire to return to the scene of her old triumphs. She wanted sleeping memories to keep still in the grave where they were buried. CHAPTER XLVIII. EVERY WOMANLY IMPULSE IN HER NATURE CRIED OUT AGAINST SUCH A CRUEL WRONG. "The villain who foully abused her, Though the husband to whom she was wed, After pledging his heart and his hand, Like a monster reviled and abused her, And she died in a far away land." FRANCIS S. SMITH.