e, at first trembling and indistinct, grew, as he
proceeded, clear and earnest.

"Never," said he, "shall I forget the confidence your emotions have
testified in my--my friendship; I am about to deserve it. Do not, my
dear friend (let me so call you), do not forget that life is too short
for misunderstandings in which happiness is concerned. You believe
that--that Godolphin does not repay the affection you have borne him:
do not be angry, dear Lady Erpingham; I feel it indelicate in me to
approach that subject, but my regard for you emboldens me. I know
Godolphin's heart; he may seem light, neglectful, but he loves you as
deeply as ever; he loves you entirely."

Constance, humbled as she was, listened in breathless silence; her
cheek burned with blushes, and those blushes were at once to Radclyffe a
torture and a reward.

"At this moment," continued he, with constrained calmness, "at this
moment he fancies in you that very coldness you lament in him. Pardon
me, Lady Erpingham; but Godolphin's nature is wayward, mysterious, and
exacting. Have you consulted, have you studied it sufficiently? Note it
well, soothe it; and if his love can repay you, you will be repaid. God
bless you, dearest Lady Erpingham."

In a moment more Radclyffe had left the apartment.

CHAPTER LIX.

CONSTANCE MAKES A DISCOVERY THAT TOUCHES AND ENLIGHTENS HER AS TO
GODOLPHIN'S NATURE.--AN EVENT, ALTHOUGH IN PRIVATE LIFE, NOT WITHOUT ITS
INTEREST.

If Constance most bitterly reproached herself, or rather her slackened
nerves, her breaking health, that she had before another--that other
too, not of her own sex--betrayed her dependence upon even her husband's
heart for happiness; if her conscience instantly took alarm at the
error (and it was indeed a grave one) which had revealed to any man her
domestic griefs; yet, on the other hand, she could not control the
wild thrill of delight with which she recalled those words that had so
solemnly assured her she was still beloved by Godolphin. She had a firm
respect in Radclyffe's penetration and his sincerity, and knew that he
was one neither to deceive her nor be deceived himself. His advice, too,
came home to her. Had she, indeed, with sufficient address, sufficient
softness, insinuated herself into Godolphin's nature? Neglected herself,
had she not neglected in return? She asked herself this question, and
was never weary of examining her past conduct. That Radclyffe, the
austere and chilling