our mother also, therefore this brief
epistle is entirely for yourself, as you wished it. Mr. Hamilton will
meet you at Dover, which will afford me much satisfaction, as I shall
know more than I could ever learn by a letter, and he will, I trust, be
enabled to set your mother's heart at rest on some points which must be
now subjects of anxiety. God bless you, my Mary, and restore you
speedily to health and peace.

Yours, with the warmest affection,

E. HAMILTON.

CHAPTER II.

An early April sun was shining brightly through one of the windows of an
elegantly furnished boudoir of a distinguished-looking mansion, in the
vicinity of Piccadilly. There was somewhat in the aspect of the room, in
the variety of toys scattered on every side, in the selection of the
newest novels which were arranged on the table, and an indescribable air
which pervaded the whole, that might have aroused a suspicion, in any
keen observer who could discover character by trifles, that the lady to
whom that apartment belonged possessed not the very strongest or most
sensible mind. A taste which frivolous trifles could alone gratify
appeared evident; and the countenance of the lady, who was reclining
listlessly on the couch, would have confirmed these surmises. She did
not look above forty, if as much, but her features told a tale of
lassitude and weariness, at variance with the prime of life, which was
then her own. No intellect, no emotion was expressed on her countenance;
it never varied, except, perhaps, to denote peevishness or sullenness
when domestic affairs annoyed her, which appeared to be the case at
present. A volume of the last new novel was in her hand, in which she
appeared sufficiently interested as to feel still more annoyed at the
interruption she was constantly receiving from a young lady, who was
also an inmate of her room.

Striking, indeed, was the contrast exhibited in the features of the
mother and daughter, for so nearly were they connected, and yet to some
the inanimate expression of the former would have been far preferable to
the handsome but scornful countenance of the latter. She could not have
been more than eighteen, but the expression of the features and the tone
of character were already decided to no ordinary degree. There was an
air of fashion in her every movement; an easy assurance and independence
of spirit which might have made her mother respected, but which in one
so young were intolerable to all