ride _in_ a coach
and four, instead of _on_ your little pony--wear velvet instead of
cotton--see St. Paul's and Westminster--but have no more races on
the downs, no more peeping into birds' nests, no more seeing the old
church, or hearing its Sabbath bells. You _may_ become a great lady,
but you must leave and forget your father and me."

"Leave you, and my father and brothers! You did not mean _that_
surely--you could not mean that, my lady--could they not go with me?"

"That would be impossible!"

"Then I will stay here," said the little girl firmly; "I love them
better than every thing else in the world. Thank you, dear lady, but I
cannot leave them."

"Leave _us_, then, Rosa," said Helen, proudly. The child obeyed with a
frightened look, wondering how she had displeased the "grand lady."

If Helen had been steeped to the very lips in misery, she could not
have upbraided the world more bitterly than she did, giving vent to
long pent-up feelings, and reproaching Rose, not only for her folly
in not complying with her wish, but for her happiness and contentment,
which, while she envied, she affected to despise.

"You cannot make me believe that the high-born and wealthy are what
you represent," said her cousin. "A class must not be condemned
because of an individual; and though I never felt inclined to achieve
rank, I honour many of its possessors. It is the unsatisfied longing
of your own heart that has made you miserable, dear Helen; and oh!
let me entreat you, by the remembrance of our early years, to suffer
yourself to enjoy what you possess."

"What I possess!" she repeated; "the dread and dislike of my husband's
relatives--the reputation of 'she _was_ very handsome'--a broken
constitution--nothing to lean upon or love--a worn and weary heart!"

"You have a mine of happiness in your husband's affection."

"Not now," she answered bitterly; "not now--not now." And she was
right.

The next day she left the farm, where peace and prosperity dwelt
together; despite herself, it pained her to witness such happiness.
It is possible that the practical and practised theories she had
witnessed might have changed her, had she not foolishly thought it
too late. Her disappointment had been great; from the adoption of that
child she had expected much of what, after all, is the creating and
existing principle of woman's nature--natural affection; but this was
refused by its mother's wisdom. Her worldly prospects had be