she sat in the window-seat, gleams of sunshine reflected on her glossy black hair, black with that glancing purple bloom as it is only seen elsewhere in nature on the neck of the raven. The bright face, yet brighter with animation—Constance remembered its effect on herself, as well as the circle of which the lovely countess was the idol. She hid her face on her arm, as if by so doing she could shut out the image which pursued her. Just then Norbourne entered the chamber; and, fancying from her attitude that his wife was asleep, he approached softly, and drew a large shawl around her. This little act completely overcame Constance: the tears rushed into her eyes, and, rising up, she hastily leant her head on his shoulder to conceal them.
"You must not sit up for me to-night," said he, "for I shall be late; and, dearest, you are not strong enough for our London hours."
There was that in this little speech that curdled the blood at her heart.
"Lady Marchmont's dinners are very gay,
