ce of being alone. Wild and roving shall be
my future life; that lot which denies me hope, has raised me above all
fear. Love makes us all the woman; love has left me, and something
hard and venturous, something that belongs to they sex, has come in its
stead.

"You have left me money--I thank you--I thank you--I thank you; my heart
almost chokes me as I write this. Could you think of me so basely?--For
shame, man! if my child--our child were living (and O, Percy, she had
thine eyes!), I would see her starve inch by inch rather than touch one
doit of thy bounty! But she is dead--thank God! Fear not for me, I shall
not starve; these hands can support life. God bless thee--loved as thou
still art! If, years hence, I should feel my end draw near, I will drag
myself to thy country, and look once more on thy face before I die."

Godolphin sank down, and covered his face with his hands. Constance took
up the letter. "Ay--read it!" said he in a hollow voice. She did so, and
when she had finished, the proud Constance, struck by a spirit like her
own, bathed the letter in her tears. This pleased--this touched--this
consoled Godolphin more than the most elaborate comforting. "Poor girl!"
said Constance, through her tears, "this must not be; she must not be
left on the wide world to her own despairing heart. Let us both go to
Rome, and seek her out. I will persuade her to accept what she refuses
from you."

Godolphin pressed his wife's hand, but spoke not. They went that day to
Rome. Lucilla had departed for Leghorn, and thence taken her passage in
a vessel bound to the northern coasts of Europe. Perhaps she had sought
her father's land? With that hope, in the absence of all others, they
attempted to console themselves.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

IN WHICH TWO PERSONS, PERMANENTLY UNITED, DISCOVER THAT NO TIE CAN
PRODUCE UNION OF MINDS.

Weeks passed on, and, apparently, Godolphin had reconciled himself to
the disappearance and precarious destiny of Lucilla. It was not in his
calm and brooding nature to show much of emotion; but there was often,
even. in the presence of Constance, a cloud on his brow, and the fits
of abstraction to which he had always been accustomed grew upon him more
frequently than ever. Constance had been inured for years to the most
assiduous, the most devoted attentions; and now, living much alone with
Godolphin, she began somewhat to miss them; for Godolphin could be a
passionate, a romantic, but he coul