She had persistently declined the invitations of Mrs. Brudenell to join
the family circle at Washington every winter, until at last that lady
had ceased to repeat them and had also discontinued her visits to
Brudenell Hall.

Berenice passed her time in hoping and praying for her husband's return,
and in preparing and adorning her home for his reception; in training
and improving the negroes; in visiting and relieving the poor; and in
walking to the turnstile and watching the high-road.

Surely a more harmless and beneficent life could not be led by woman;
yet the poisonous alchemy of detraction turned all her good deeds into
evil ones.

Poor Berenice--poor in love, was rich in gold, and she lavished it with
an unsparing hand on the improvement of Brudenell. She did not feel at
liberty to pull down and build up, else had the time-worn old mansion
house disappeared from sight and a new and elegant villa had reared its
walls upon Brudenell Heights. But she did everything else she could to
enhance the beauty and value of the estate.

The house was thoroughly repaired, refurnished, and decorated with great
luxury, richness, and splendor. The grounds were laid out, planted, and
adorned with all the beauty that taste, wealth, and skill could produce.
Orchards and vineyards were set out. Conservatories and pineries were
erected. The negroes' squalid log-huts were replaced with neat stone
cottages, and the shabby wooden fences by substantial stone walls.

And all this was done, not for herself, but for her husband, and her
constant mental inquiry was: