mind, or rather from the heart. If any thing, she exaggerated her own deficiencies; the very intensity of her affection for her husband made her feel as if he deserved even her ideal of perfection. Her introduction into the world had brought its usual bitter fruit—experience. With all the simplicity of seclusion, and a neglected education, Constance had natural talents, and that fine sense which originates in fine feeling. She shrank from talking herself: but she listened with an attention the more keen, as it was undisturbed by most of the usual distractions. Chiefly accustomed to the society of her father and her husband, her mind, unconsciously both to herself and to them, was every day acquiring new powers, only restrained by her naturally timid temper.
But was she happier for her knowledge? Alas, no! she learnt to doubt and to fear. The sneers she now so often heard pointed at others, she took for granted would, also, not spare herself; and what effect might they not have on Norbourne? She had overheard more than one cruel sarcasm on her personal ap-
