I CAME down a little before eight, next morning, as I knew by thestriking of a distant clock. There was no appearance of breakfast.I waited above an hour before it came, still vainly longing foraccess to the library; and, after that lonely repast was concluded,I waited again about an hour and a half in great suspense anddiscomfort, uncertain what to do. At length Lady Ashby came to bidme good-morning. She informed me she had only just breakfasted,and now wanted me to take an early walk with her in the park. Sheasked how long I had been up, and on receiving my answer, expressedthe deepest regret, and again promised to show me the library. Isuggested she had better do so at once, and then there would be nofurther trouble either with remembering or forgetting. Shecomplied, on condition that I would not think of reading, orbothering with the books now; for she wanted to show me thegardens, and take a walk in the park with me, before it became toohot for enjoyment; which, indeed, was nearly the case already. Ofcourse I readily assented; and we took our walk accordingly.

As we were strolling in the park, talking of what my companion hadseen and heard during her travelling experience, a gentleman onhorseback rode up and passed us. As he turned, in passing, andstared me full in the face, I had a good opportunity of seeing whathe was like. He was tall, thin, and wasted, with a slight stoop inthe shoulders, a pale face, but somewhat blotchy, and disagreeablyred about the eyelids, plain features, and a general appearance oflanguor and flatness, relieved by a sinister expression in themouth and the dull, soulless eyes.

'I detest that man!' whispered Lady Ashby, with bitter emphasis, ashe slowly trotted by.

'Who is it?' I asked, unwilling to suppose that she should so speakof her husband.

'Sir Thomas Ashby,' she replied, with dreary composure.

'And do you DETEST him, Miss Murray?' said I, for I was too muchshocked to remember her name at the moment.

'Yes, I do, Miss Grey, and despise him too; and if you knew him youwould not blame me.'

'But you knew what he was before you married him.'

'No; I only thought so: I did not half know him really. I knowyou warned me against it, and I wish I had listened to you: butit's too late to regret that now. And besides, mamma ought to haveknown better than either of us, and she never said anything againstit - quite the contrary. And then I thought he adored me, andwould let me have my own way: he did pretend to do so at first,but now he does not care a bit about me. Yet I should not care forthat: he might do as he pleased, if I might only be free to amusemyself and to stay in London, or have a few friends down here: butHE WILL do as he pleases, and I must be a prisoner and a slave.The moment he saw I could enjoy myself without him, and that othersknew my value better than himself, the selfish wretch began toaccuse me of coquetry and extravagance; and to abuse Harry Meltham,whose shoes he was not worthy to clean. And then he must needshave me down in the country, to lead the life of a nun, lest Ishould dishonour him or bring him to ruin; as if he had not beenten times worse every way, with his betting-book, and his gaming-table, and his opera-girls, and his Lady This and Mrs. That - yes,and his bottles of wine, and glasses of brandy-and-water too! Oh,I would give ten thousand worlds to be Mss Murray again! It is TOObad to feel life, health, and beauty wasting away, unfelt andunenjoyed, for such a brute as that!' exclaimed she, fairlybursting into tears in the bitterness of her vexation.

Of course, I pitied her exceedingly; as well for her false idea ofhappiness and disregard of duty, as for the wretched partner withwhom her fate was linked. I said what I could to comfort her, andoffered such counsels as I thought she most required: advisingher, first, by gentle reasoning, by kindness, example, andpersuasion, to try to ameliorate her husband; and then, when shehad done all she could, if she still found him incorrigible, toendeavour to abstract herself from him - to wrap herself up in herown integrity, and trouble herself as little about him as possible.I exhorted her to seek consolation in doing her duty to God andman, to put her trust in Heaven, and solace herself with the careand nurture of her little daughter; assuring her she would be amplyrewarded by witnessing its progress in strength and wisdom, andreceiving its genuine affection.

'But I can't devote myself entirely to a child,' said she; 'it maydie - which is not at all improbable.'

'But, with care, many a delicate infant has become a strong man orwoman.'

'But it may grow so intolerably like its father that I shall hateit.'

'That is not likely; it is a little girl, and strongly resemblesits mother.'

'No matter; I should like it better if it were a boy - only thatits father will leave it no inheritance that he can possiblysquander away. What pleasure can I have in seeing a girl grow upto eclipse me, and enjoy those pleasures that I am for everdebarred from? But supposing I could be so generous as to takedelight in this, still it is ONLY a child; and I can't centre allmy hopes in a child: that is only one degree better than devotingoneself to a dog. And as for all the wisdom and goodness you havebeen trying to instil into me - that is all very right and proper,I daresay, and if I were some twenty years older, I might fructifyby it: but people must enjoy themselves when they are young; andif others won't let them - why, they must hate them for it!'

'The best way to enjoy yourself is to do what is right and hatenobody. The end of Religion is not to teach us how to die, but howto live; and the earlier you become wise and good, the more ofhappiness you secure. And now, Lady Ashby, I have one more pieceof advice to offer you, which is, that you will not make an enemyof your mother-in-law. Don't get into the way of holding her atarms' length, and regarding her with jealous distrust. I never sawher, but I have heard good as well as evil respecting her; and Iimagine that, though cold and haughty in her general demeanour, andeven exacting in her requirements, she has strong affections forthose who can reach them; and, though so blindly attached to herson, she is not without good principles, or incapable of hearingreason. If you would but conciliate her a little, and adopt afriendly, open manner - and even confide your grievances to her -real grievances, such as you have a right to complain of - it is myfirm belief that she would, in time, become your faithful friend,and a comfort and support to you, instead of the incubus youdescribe her.' But I fear my advice had little effect upon theunfortunate young lady; and, finding I could render myself solittle serviceable, my residence at Ashby Park became doublypainful. But still, I must stay out that day and the followingone, as I had promised to do so: though, resisting all entreatiesand inducements to prolong my visit further, I insisted upondeparting the next morning; affirming that my mother would belonely without me, and that she impatiently expected my return.Nevertheless, it was with a heavy heart that I bade adieu to poorLady Ashby, and left her in her princely home. It was no slightadditional proof of her unhappiness, that she should so cling tothe consolation of my presence, and earnestly desire the company ofone whose general tastes and ideas were so little congenial to herown - whom she had completely forgotten in her hour of prosperity,and whose presence would be rather a nuisance than a pleasure, ifshe could but have half her heart's desire.