r to her if they were
made independent of her cares. And years, which had brought the young
countess acquainted with the nothingness of the world, had softened
and deepened the sources of her affections, in proportion as they had
checked those of her ambition. She could not, she did not, seek to
disguise from herself that Godolphin yet loved her; she anticipated the
hour when he would avow that love, and when she might be permitted to
atone for all of disappointment that her former rejection might have
brought to him. She felt, too, that it would be a noble as well as
delightful task, to awaken an intellect so brilliant to the natural
objects of its display; to call forth into active life his teeming
thought, and the rich eloquence with which he could convey it. Nor in
this hope were her more selfish designs, her political schemings, and
her desire of sway over those whom she loved to humble, forgotten; but
they made, however,--to be just,--a small part of her meditations.
Her hopes were chiefly of a more generous order. "I refused thee," she
thought, "when I was poor and dependent--now that I have wealth and
rank, how gladly will I yield them to thy bidding!"

But Godolphin, as if unconscious of this favorable bias of her
inclinations, did not warm from his reserve. On the contrary, his first
abstraction, and his first agitation, had both subsided into a distant
and cool self-possession. They met often, but he avoided all nearer
or less general communication. She saw, however, that his eyes were
constantly in search of her, and that a slight trembling in his voice
when he addressed her, belied the calmness of his manner. Sometimes,
too, a word, or a touch from her, would awaken the ill-concealed
emotions--his lips seemed about to own the triumph of her and of the
past; but, as if by a violent effort, they were again sealed; and
not unoften, evidently unwilling to trust his self-command, he
would abruptly depart. In short, Constance perceived that a strange
embarrassment, the causes of which she could not divine, hung about him,
and that his conduct was regulated by some secret motive, which did not
spring from the circumstances that had occurred between them. For it was
evident that he was not withheld by any resentment toward her from her
former rejection: even his looks, his words, had betrayed that he had
done more than forgive. Lady Charlotte Deerham had heard from Saville
of their former attachment: she was a woma