CHAPTER VIII.
"Slight are the outward signs of evil thought: Within, within--'twas there the spirit wrought.
Love shows all changes: hate, ambition, guile, Betray no further than the bitter smile." BYRON.
Our readers must imagine that nearly a year and a half has elapsed since the conclusion of our last chapter.

During that interval the outward life of Marie had passed in a calm, even stream; which, could she have succeeded in entirely banishing thoughts of the past, would have been unalloyed enjoyment.

Her marriage, as we hinted in our fourth chapter, had been solemnized in public, with all the form and ceremony of the Catholic Church, and with a splendor incumbent on the high rank and immense wealth of the bridegroom.

In compliance with Marie's wishes, however, she had not yet been presented to the Queen; delicate health (which was the fact, for a terrible fever had succeeded the varied emotions of her wedding day) and her late bereavement, was her husband's excuse to Isabella for her non-appearance--an excuse graciously accepted; the rather that the Queen of Castile was then much engrossed with political changes and national reforms, than from any failing of interest in Don Ferdinand's bride.
Changed as was her estate, from her lovely home in the Vale of Cedars, where she had dwelt as the sole companion of an ailing parent, to the mistress of a large establishment in one of the most populous cities of Castile; the idolized wife of the Governor of the town--and, as such, the object of popular love and veneration, and called upon, frequently, to exert influence and authority--still Marie did not fail performing every new duty with a grace and sweetness binding her more and more closely to the doting heart of her husband.

For her inward self, Marie was calm--nay, at intervals, almost happy.