ch no journey to Rome could cure. "What's the
use of it, Papa?" she said. "You are unhappy because I'm altered.
Would you wish me not to be altered after what has passed? Of course
I am altered. Let us take it as it is, and not think about it." She
had adopted certain practices in life, however, which Sir Harry was
determined to check, at any rate for the time. She spent her days
among the poor, and when not with them she was at church. And there
was always some dreary book in her hands when they were together in
the drawing-room after dinner. Of church-going and visiting the poor,
and of good books, Sir Harry approved thoroughly; but even of good
things such as these there may be too much. So Sir Harry and Lady
Elizabeth got a courier who spoke all languages, and a footman who
spoke German, and two maids, of whom one pretended to speak French,
and had trunks packed without number, and started for Rome. All that
wealth could do was done; but let the horseman be ever so rich, or
the horseman's daughter, and the stud be ever so good, it is seldom
they can ride fast enough to shake off their cares.

In Rome they remained till April, and while they were there the name
of Cousin George was never once mentioned in the hearing of Sir
Harry. Between the mother and daughter no doubt there was speech
concerning him. But to Emily's mind he was always present. He was to
her as a thing abominable, and yet necessarily tied to her by bonds
which she could never burst asunder. She felt like some poor princess
in a tale, married to an ogre from whom there was no escape. She had
given herself up to one utterly worthless, and she knew it. But yet
she had given herself, and could not revoke the gift. There was,
indeed, still left to her that possibility of a miracle, but of
that she whispered nothing even to her mother. If there were to
be a miracle, it must be of God; and at God's throne she made her
whispers. In these days she was taken about from sight to sight with
apparent willingness. She saw churches, pictures, statues, and ruins,
and seemed to take an interest in them. She was introduced to the
Pope, and allowed herself to be apparelled in her very best for that
august occasion. But, nevertheless, the tenor of her way and the
fashions of her life, as was her daily dress, were grey and sad and
solemn. She lived as one who knew that the backbone of her life was
broken. Early in April they left Rome and went north, to the Italian
lak