music; she thought each instant he would
come, at least for a few minutes, to thank her for all the care she had
bestowed to make his habitation comfortable. The sun gilded the west;
the melancholy moon rose up in solemn splendor; the hours passed by, and
he came not.

The next morning, she heard that he had ridden over to the house of Sir
Philip Hastings, and indignation warred with love in her bosom. She
thought he must certainly come that day, and she resolved angrily to
upbraid him for his want of courtesy. Luckily, however, for her, he did
not come that day; and a sort of melancholy took possession of her.
Luckily, I say; for when passion takes hold of a scheme it is generally
sure to shake it to pieces, and that melancholy loosens the grasp of
passion for a time. The next day he did come, and with an air so easy
and unconscious of offence as almost to provoke her into vehemence
again. He knew not what she felt--he had no idea of how he had been
looked for. He was as ignorant that she had ever thought of him as a
husband, as she was that he had ever compared her in his mind to his
own mother.

He talked quietly, indifferently, of his having been over to the house
of Sir Philip Hastings, adding merely--not as an excuse, but as a simple
fact--that he had been unable to call there as he had promised before
leaving the country. He dilated upon the kind reception he had met with
from Lady Hastings, for Sir Philip was absent upon business; and he went
on to dwell rather largely upon the exceeding beauty and great grace of
Emily Hastings.

Oh how Mrs. Hazleton hated her! It requires but a few drops of poison to
envenom a whole well.

He did worse: he proceeded to descant upon her character--upon the
blended brightness and deep thought--upon the high-souled emotions and
child-like sparkle of her disposition--upon the simplicity and
complexity, upon the many-sided splendor of her character, which, like
the cut diamond, reflected each ray of light in a thousand varied and
dazzling hues. Oh how Mrs. Hazleton hated her--hated, because for the
first time she began to fear. He had spoken to her in praise of another
woman--with loud encomiums too, with a brightened eye, and a look which
told her more than his words. These were signs not to be mistaken. They
did not show in the least that he loved Emily Hastings, and that she
knew right well; but they showed that he did not love her; and there was
the poison in the cup.

So