happiness. Am I, also, that all to yon? If there be any thought at your
heart which whispers you, 'You might have served your ambition better; you
have done wrong in yielding to love and love only,'--then, Constance,
pause; it is not too late."

"Do I deserve this, Percy?"

"You drop words sometimes," answered Godolphin, "that seem to indicate
that you think the world may cavil at your choice, and that some exertion
on my part is necessary to maintain your dignity. Constance, need I
say, again and again, that I adore the very dust you tread on? But I have
a pride, a self-respect, beneath which I cannot stoop; if you really think
or feel this, I will not condescend to receive even happiness from you:
let us part."

Constance saw his lips white and quivering as he spoke; her heart smote
her, her pride vanished: she sank on his shoulder, and forgot even
ambition; nay, while she inly murmured at his sentiment, she felt it
breathed a sort of nobility that she could not but esteem. She strove
then to lull to rest all her more worldly anxieties for the future; to
hope that, cast on the exciting stage of English ambition, Godolphin must
necessarily be stirred despite his creed; and if she sometimes doubted,
sometimes despaired of this, she felt at least that his presence had
become dearer to her than all things. Nay, she checked her own
enthusiasm, her own worship of fame, since they clashed with his opinions;
so marvellously and insensibly bad Love bowed down the proud energies and
the lofty soul of the daughter of John Vernon.

CHAPTER XLVI.