CHAPTER III.

How pitiable is the feeling, delicate woman, who commits a great imprudence for a man whose love she knows inferior to her own! She has but herself to be her support. If she has risked repose and character to do some signal service for her idol, she may be envied. Sweet is the self-devotion that braves all danger to save a life that is dear to us, or solace the distress which rends a heart responsive to our own. But thus to travel unknown lands, to arrive without being expected, to blush before the one beloved, for the unasked proof thus given of his power--painful degradation! What would it be if we thus involved the happiness of others, and outraged our duty to more sacred bonds? Corinne was free. She sacrificed but her own peace and glory. Her conduct was irrational, indeed, but it could overcloud no destiny save hers.[1]

On landing in England, Corinne learned from the papers that Lord Nevil's departure was still delayed. She saw no society in London except the family of a banker, to whom she had been recommended _under a false name_. He was interested in her at first sight, and enjoined his wife and daughter to pay her all the attentions in their power. She fell dangerously ill, and, for a fortnight, her new friends watched over her with the most tender care. She heard that Lord Nevil was in Scotland, but must shortly rejoin his regiment in London. She knew not how to announce herself, as she had not written to him respecting her intentions--indeed, Oswald had not received a letter from her for three months. He mentally accused her of infidelity, as if he had any right to complain. On his return to town, he went first to his agents, where he hoped to find letters from Italy: there were none; and, as he was musing over this silence, he encountered Mr. Edgarmond, who asked him for news of Corinne. "I hear nothing of her," he replied, irritably.--"That I can easily understand," added Edgarmond: "these Italians always forget a foreigner, once out of sight; one ought never to heed it; they would be too delightful if they united constancy with genius: it is but fair that our own women should have some advantage!" He squeezed Oswald's hand as he said this, and took leave, as he was just starting for Wales; but his few words had pierced their hearer's heart.--"I am wrong," he said, "to wish she should regret me, since I cannot constitute her happiness; but so soon to forget! This blights the past as well as the future."

Despite his father's will, he had resolved not to see Lucy more; and even scorned himself for the impression she had made on him. Condemned as he was to defeat the hopes of Corinne, he felt that, at least, he ought to preserve his heart's faith inviolately hers: no duty urged him to forfeit that. He renewed his solicitations in her cause, by letters to Lady Edgarmond, who did not even deign to answer them: meanwhile, Mr. Dickson assured him that the only way of melting her to his wishes would be--marrying her daughter; whose establishment, she feared, Corinne might frustrate, if she resumed her name, and was received by her family. Fate had hitherto spared her the pang of suspecting Oswald's interest in her sister. Never was she herself more worthy of him than now. During her illness, the candid, simple beings by whom she was surrounded, had given her a sincere taste for English habits and manners. The few persons she saw were anything but distinguished, yet possessed an estimable strength, and justice of mind. Their affection for her was less professing than that to which she had been accustomed, but evinced with every opportunity by fresh good offices. The austerity of Lady Edgarmond, the tedium of a small country town, had cruelly misled her as to the kindness, the true nobility to be found in the country she had abandoned: unluckily, she now became attached to it under such circumstances, that it would have been better for her own peace had she never been untaught her dislike.

[1] The Corinnes of this world care little how they pain the Castel Fortes. The mere esteem of such a man would have been worth even the love of twenty Oswalds.--TR.