display it. What a pretty version of the good Samaritan modernized
one might give in a Shetland scarf and a cottage bonnet the very thing
Chalons would like to paint; and what an effective "interior" might
be made of the dwarf's chamber, crowded with rude peasant faces, all
abashed and almost awe-struck as she entered.

The longer she dwelt upon the theme the more fascinating it became. "It
would be really worth while to realize," said she to herself at last "so
amusing and so odd, an actual adventure; besides, in point of fact, it
was her duty to look after this poor creature." Just so; there never was
a frivolous action, or a notion struck out by passing folly, for
which its author could not find a justification in PRINCIPLE! We are
everlastingly declaring against the knaveries and deceptions practised
on us in life; but if we only took count of the cheats we play off upon
ourselves, we should find that there are no such impostors as our own
hearts.

Nobody was ever less likely to make this discovery than Lady Hester. She
believed herself everything that was good and amiable; she knew that she
was handsome. Whatever contrarieties she met with in life, she was quite
certain they came not from any fault of hers; and if self-esteem could
give happiness, she must have enjoyed it. But it cannot. The wide
neutral territory between what we think of ourselves and others think of
us is filled with daring enemies to our peace, and it is impossible to
venture into it without a wound of self-love.

To make her visit to the dwarf sufficient of an adventure, it must
be done in secret; nobody should know it but Celestine, her maid, who
should accompany her. Affecting a slight indisposition, she could retire
to her room in the evening, and then there would be abundant time to put
her plan into execution. Even these few precautions against discovery
were needless, for George did not return to dinner on that day, and
Sydney made a headache an excuse for not appearing.

Nothing short of the love of adventure and the indulgence of a caprice
could have induced Lady Hester to venture out in such a night. The
rain fell in torrents, and swooped along the narrow streets in channels
swollen to the size of rivulets. The river itself, fed by many a
mountain stream, fell tumbling over the rocks with a deafening roar,
amid which the crashing branches of the pine-trees were heard at
intervals. What would not have been her anxieties and lamenting