s, unconsciously, a
lonely woman.

As I remember them, my hours of happiness were the hours when I took
refuge in my music and my books. Out of the house, my one diversion,
always welcome and always fresh, was riding. Without, any false modesty,
I may mention that I had lovers as well as admirers; but not one of them
produced an impression on my heart. In all that related to the tender
passion, as it is called, I was an undeveloped being. The influence
that men have on women, _because_ they are men, was really and truly
a mystery to me. I was ashamed of my own coldness--I tried, honestly
tried, to copy other girls; to feel my heart beating in the presence of
the one chosen man. It was not to be done. When a man pressed my hand, I
felt it in my rings, instead of my heart.

These confessions made, I have done with the past, and may now relate
the events which my enemies, among the ladies, have described as
presenting a shocking story.

III.

WE were in London for the season. One morning, I went out riding with my
uncle, as usual, in Hyde Park.

The General's service in the army had been in a cavalry
regiment--service distinguished by merits which justified his rapid rise
to the high places in his profession. In the hunting-field, he was noted
as one of the most daring and most accomplished riders in our county. He
had always delighted in riding young and high-spirited horses; and the
habit remained with him after he had quitted the active duties of his
profession in later life. From first to last he had met with no accident
worth remembering, until the unlucky morning when he went out with me.

His horse, a fiery chestnut, ran away with him, in that part of the
Park-ride call ed Rotten Row. With the purpose of keeping clear of other
riders, he spurred his runaway horse at the rail which divides the Row
from the grassy inclosure at its side. The terrified animal swerved in
taking the leap, and dashed him against a tree. He was dreadfully
shaken and injured; but his strong constitution carried him through to
recovery--with the serious drawback of an incurable lameness in one leg.

The doctors, on taking leave of their patient, united in warning him (at
his age, and bearing in mind his weakened leg) to ride no more restive
horses. "A quiet cob, General," they all suggested. My uncle was sorely
mortified and offended. "If I am fit for nothing but a quiet cob," he
said, bitterly, "I will ride no more." He kept his word