at least not then—nor a sign of sorrow to cloud for a moment the gay splendor of the day. But the mother did bethink herself, in the solitude of her own room, of those last words, and did acknowledge a lack of something for which her heart had sighed. She had boasted to her sister that she had nothing to regret as to her daughter's education; but now, when she was alone after her success, did she feel that she could still support herself with that boast? For, be it known, Mrs. Grantly had a heart within her bosom and a faith within her heart. The world, it is true, had pressed upon her sorely with all its weight of accumulated clerical wealth, but it had not utterly crushed her—not her, but only her child. For the sins of the father, are they not visited on the third and fourth generation?
But if any such feeling of remorse did for a while mar the fullness of Mrs. Grantly's joy, it was soon dispelled by the perfect success of her daughter's married life. At the end of the autumn the bride and bridegroom returned from their tour, and it was evident to all the circle at Hartletop Priory that Lord Dumbello was by no means dissatisfied with his bargain. His wife had been admired every where to the top of his bent. All the world at Ems, and at Baden, and at Nice had been stricken by the stately beauty of the young viscountess. And then, too, her manner, style, and high dignity of demeanor altogether supported the reverential feeling which her grace and form at first inspired. She never derogated from her husband's honor by the fictitious liveliness of gossip, or allowed any one to forget the peeress in the woman. Lord Dumbello soon found that his reputation for discretion was quite safe in her hands, and that there were no lessons as to conduct in which it was necessary that he should give instruction.
Before the winter was over she had equally won the hearts of all the circle at Hartletop Priory. The duke was there, and declared to the marchioness that Dumbello could not possibly have done better. "Indeed, I do not think he could," said the happy mother. "She sees all that she ought to see, and nothing that she ought not."
And then, in London, when the season came, all men sang all manner of praises in her favor, and Lord Dumbello was made aware that he was reckoned among the wisest of his age. He had married a wife who managed every thing for him, who never troubled him, whom no woman
