ret and to fear.

On Cadurcis, a child of pensive temperament, and in whose strange
and yet undeveloped character there was, amid lighter elements, a
constitutional principle of melancholy, the sudden decease of his
mother produced a profound effect. All was forgotten of his parent,
except the intimate and natural tie, and her warm and genuine
affection. He was now alone in the world; for reflection impressed
upon him at this moment what the course of existence too generally
teaches to us all, that mournful truth, that, after all, we have no
friends that we can depend upon in this life but our parents. All
other intimacies, however ardent, are liable to cool; all other
confidence, however unlimited, to be violated. In the phantasmagoria
of life, the friend with whom we have cultivated mutual trust for
years is often suddenly or gradually estranged from us, or becomes,
from, painful, yet irresistible circumstances, even our deadliest foe.
As for women, as for the mistresses of our hearts, who has not learnt
that the links of passion are fragile as they are glittering; and
that the bosom on which we have reposed with idolatry all our secret
sorrows and sanguine hopes, eventually becomes the very heart that
exults in our misery and baffles our welfare? Where is the enamoured
face that smiled upon our early love, and was to shed tears over our
grave? Where are the choice companions of our youth, with whom we were
to breast the difficulties and share the triumphs of existence? Even
in this inconstant world, what changes like the heart? Love is a
dream, and friendship a delusion. No wonder we grow callous; for how
few have the opportunity of returning to the hearth which they quitted
in levity or thoughtless weariness, yet which alone is faithful to
them; whose sweet affections require not the stimulus of prosperity
or fame, the lure of accomplishments, or the tribute of flattery; but
which are constant to us in distress, and console us even in disgrace!

Before she retired for the night, Lady Annabel was anxious to see
Plantagenet. Mistress Pauncefort had informed her of his visit to
his mother's room. Lady Annabel found Cadurcis in the gallery, now
partially lighted by the moon which had recently risen. She entered
with her light, as if she were on her way to her own room, and not
seeking him.

'Dear Plantagenet,' she said, 'will you not go to bed?'

'I do not intend to go to bed to-night,' he replied.

She approached