in, sneering, "behold the tomb!"

"Yes, but the tomb of great men!" said Constance, eagerly.

"The victims of their greatness."

There was a pause; Constance would not reply, she would scarcely listen.

"And do you feel no excitement, Percy, in the hum and bustle--the
lights, the pomp of your native city?"

"Yes; I am in the mart where all enjoyment may be purchased."

"Ah, fie!"

Godolphin drew his cloak round him, and put up the window.

"These cursed east winds!"

Very true--they are the curse of the country!

The carriage stopped at the stately portico of Erpingham House.
Godolphin felt a little humiliated at being indebted to another--to a
woman, for so splendid a tenement; but Constance, not penetrating into
this sentiment, hastened up the broad stairs, and said, pointing to a
door that led to her boudoir,

"In that room cabinets have been formed and shaken."

Godolphin laughed; he was alive only to the vanity of the boast, because
he shared not the enthusiasm; this was Constance's weak point: her dark
eye flashed fire.

There's nothing bores a man more than the sort of uneasy quiet
that follows a day's journey. Godolphin took his hat, and yawningly
stretching himself, nodded to Constance, and moved to the door; they
were in her dressing-room at the time.

"Why, what, Percy, you cannot be going out now?"

"Indeed I am, my love."

"Where, in Heaven's name?"

"To White's, to learn the news of the Opera, and the strength of the
Ballet."

"I had just rung for lights to show you the house!" said Constance,
disappointed, and half-reproachfully.

"Mercy, Constance! damp rooms and east winds together are too
much. House, indeed! what can there be worth seeing in your English
drawing-rooms after the marble palaces of Italy? Any commands?"

"None!" said Constance, sinking back into her chair, with the tears in
her eyes. Godolphin did not perceive them; he was only displeased by
the cold tone of her answer, and he shut the door, muttering to
himself--"Was there ever such indelicate ostentation!"

"And thus," said Constance, bitterly, "I return to England; friendless,
unloved, solitary in my schemes and my heart as I was before. Awake, my
soul! thou art my sole strength, my sole support. Weak, weak that I was,
to love this man in spite of--Well, well, I am not sunk so low as to
regret."

So saying, she wiped away a few tears, and turning with a strong effort
from softer thoughts, leaned her cheek