t I spoke to myself, saying that the joy which I
took in a man's love would certainly be enough for my happiness. But
oh, alas! I fell to the ground. I will tell you now more of myself
than I have told any one for many a year, more even than I have told
George. I will tell you because I know that I can trust your faith."

"Yes; you can trust me," said Marion.

"I also married greatly; greatly, as the world's honours are
concerned. In mere rank I stood as a girl higher perhaps than you
do now. But I was lifted out of my own degree, and in accepting the
name which my husband gave me I assured myself that I would do honour
to it, at any rate by my conduct. I did it no dishonour;--but my
marriage was most unfortunate."

"Was he good?" asked Marion.

"He was weak. Are you sure that Lord Hampstead is strong? He was
fickle-hearted. Can you be sure that Lord Hampstead will be constant
amidst the charms of others whose manners will be more like his own
than yours can be?"

"I think he would be constant," said Marion.

"Because you are ready to worship him who has condescended to step
down from his high pedestal and worship you. Is it not so?"

"It may be that it is so," said Marion.

"Ah, yes, my child. It may be that it is so. And then, think of what
may follow,--not only for him, but for you also; not only for you,
but for him also. Broken hearts, crushed ambitions, hopes all dead,
personal dislikes, and perhaps hatred."

"Not hatred; not hatred."

"I lived to be hated;--and why not another?" Then she was silent, and
Marion rising from her seat kissed her, and went away to her home.

She had very much to think of. Though she had declared that she had
almost expected this offer from her lover, still it could not be that
the Quaker girl, the daughter of Zachary Fay, Messrs. Pogson and
Littlebird's clerk, should not be astounded by having such an offer
from such a suitor as Lord Hampstead. But in truth the glory of the
thing was not very much to her. It was something, no doubt. It must
be something to a girl to find that her own personal charms have
sufficed to lure down from his lofty perch the topmost bird of them
all. That Marion was open to some such weakness may be acknowledged
of her. But of the coronet, of the diamonds, of the lofty title,
and high seats, of the castle, and the parks, and well-arranged
equipages, of the rich dresses, of the obsequious servants, and
fawning world that would be gathered around