ome days longer in town. He saw the last
rites performed to Saville, and he was present at the opening of the
will.

As in life Saville had never lent a helping hand to the distressed, as
he had mixed with the wealthy only, so now to the wealthy only was his
wealth devoted. The rich Godolphin was his principal heir; not a word
was even said about his illegitimate children, not an inquiry ordained
towards his poor relations. In this, as in all the formula of his will,
Saville followed the prescribed customs of the world.

Fast went the panting steeds that bore Constance and Godolphin from the
desolate city. Bright was the summer sky, and green looked the smiling
fields that lay on either side their road. Nature was awake and active.
What a delicious contrast to the scenes of Art which they left behind!
Constance exerted herself to the utmost to cheer the spirits of her
companion, and succeeded. In the small compass which confined them
together, their conversation flowed in confidence and intimate
affection. Not since the first month of their union had they talked with
less reserve and more entire love--only there was this difference in
their topics they then talked of the future only, they now talked more
of the past. They uttered many a fond regret over their several faults
to each other; and, with clasped hands, congratulated themselves
on their present reunion of heart. They allowed how much all things
independent of affection had deceived them, and no longer exacting so
much from love, they felt its real importance. Ah, why do all of us lose
so many years in searching after happiness, but never inquiring into its
nature! We are like one who collects the books of a thousand tongues,
and knowing not their language, wonders why they do not delight him?

But still, athwart the mind of Constance one dark image would ever and
anon obtrude itself; the solitary and mystic Lucilla, with her erring
brain and forlorn fortunes, was not even in happiness to be forgotten.
There were times, too, in that short journey, when she felt the tale of
her interview with that unhappy being rise to her lips: but ever when
she looked on the countenance of Godolphin, beaming with more heartfelt
and homeborn gladness than she had seen for years, she could not bear
the thought of seeing it darkened by the pain her story would inflict;
and she shrank from embittering moments so precious to her heart.

All her endeavours to discover Lucilla had