ehand an unjust representation of the
whole affair, and that I encountered him while under its influence. Over
and above, he had reason to be dissatisfied with the whole thing, and
then just at that moment a fit of the gout seized him! I have written to
him from this place, and I feel it impossible to give up the hope of
seeing his sentiments mollified towards me."

Louise, however, did not think so favourably of his sentiments; thought
Jacobi quite too indulgent, and was altogether irritated against his
Excellency.

"It is quite the best not to trouble oneself about him," said she.

Jacobi smiled. "His poor Excellency!" said he.

CHAPTER XI.

A RELAPSE.

Whilst May wrote its romance in leaves and life; whilst Jacobi and
Louise wrote many sweet chapters of theirs in kisses; whilst all the
house was in motion on account of the marriage, and joy and mirth sprang
up to life like butterflies in the spring sun, one glance was ever
darker, one cheek ever paler, and that was Eva's.

People say commonly that love is a game for the man, and a
life's-business for the woman. If there be truth in this, it may arise
from this cause, that practical life makes commonly too great a demand
on the thoughts and activity of the man for him to have much time to
spend on love, whilst on the contrary the woman is too much occupied
with herself to have the power of withdrawing herself from the pangs of
love (may the Chamberlain's lady forgive us talking so much about man
and woman! It has not been our lot here in the world to scour either a
room or a kettle, though, to speak the truth, we do not consider
ourselves incapable of so doing). Eva found nothing in her peaceful home
which was powerful enough to abstract her from the thoughts and feelings
which for so long had been the dearest to her heart. The warm breezes of
spring, so full of love, fanned up that glimmering fire; so did also
that innocent life of the betrothed, so full of cordiality and
happiness; so did also a yet more poisonous wind. One piece of news
which this spring brought was the betrothal of Major R. with one of the
beauties of the capital, a former rival of Eva--news which caused a deep
wound to her heart. She wished to conceal, she wished to veil what was
yet remaining of a love which no one had favoured, and over which she
could not now do other than blush; she had determined never again to
burden and grieve her family with her weakness, her sorrows; she