She had neither prayed nor struggled in vain, and she felt as if her very prayer was answered in the fact that Arthur Stanley had been appointed to some high and honorable post in Sicily, and they were not therefore likely yet to meet again.

The wife of such a character as Morales could not have continued wretched unless perversely resolved so to be.

But his very virtues, while they inspired the deepest reverence towards him, engendered some degree of fear.

Could she really have loved him as--he believed she did--this feeling would not have had existence; but its foundation was the constant thought that she was deceiving him--the remorse, that his fond confidence was so utterly misplaced--the consciousness, that there was still something to conceal, which, if discovered, must blight his happiness for ever, and estrange him from her, were it only for the past deceit.

Had his character been less lofty--his confidence in her less perfect--his very love less fond and trusting--she could have borne her trial better; but to one true, ingenuous, open as herself, what could be more terrible than the unceasing thought that she was acting a part--and to her husband?
Often and often she longed, with an almost irresistible impulse, to fling herself at his feet, and beseech him not to pierce her heart with such fond trust; but the impulse was forcibly controlled.