f
industry. Hitherto she had failed in everything, but now she would try
if some mode of success might not be open to her. She would ascertain,
too, on what smallest sum she could live respectably and without penury,
and would keep only so much out of Lord Ongar's wealth.

But hitherto her life at Tenby had not been successful. Solitary days
were longer there even than they had been in London. People stared at
her more; and, though she did not own it to herself, she missed greatly
the comforts of her London house. As for reading, I doubt whether she
did much better by the sea-side than she had done in the town. Men and
women say that they will read, and think so--those, I mean, who have
acquired no habit of reading--believing the work to be, of all works,
the easiest. It may be work, they think, but of all works it must be the
easiest of achievement. Given the absolute faculty of reading, the task
of going through the pages of a book must be, of all tasks, the most
certainly within the grasp of the man or woman who attempts it. Alas!
no; if the habit be not there, of all tasks it is the most difficult. If
a man have not acquired the habit of reading till he be old, he shall
sooner in his old age learn to make shoes than learn the adequate use of
a book. And worse again--under such circumstances the making of shoes
shall be more pleasant to him than the reading of a book. Let those who
are not old, who are still young, ponder this well. Lady Ongar, indeed,
was not old, by no means too old to clothe herself in new habits; but
even she was old enough to find that the doing so was a matter of much
difficulty. She had her books around her; but, in spite of her books,
she was sadly in want of some excitement when the letter from Clavering
came so her relief.

It was indeed a relief. Her brother-in-law dead, and he also who had so
lately been her suitor! These two men whom she had so lately seen in
lusty health--proud with all the pride of outward life--had both, by a
stroke of the winds, been turned into nothing. A terrible retribution
had fallen upon her enemy--for as her enemy she had ever regarded Hugh
Clavering since her husband's death. She took no joy in this
retribution. There was no feeling of triumph at her heart in that he had
perished. She did not tell herself that she was glad, either for her own
sake or for her sister's. But mingled with the awe she felt there was a
something of unexpressed and inexpressible rel