lifting her arm towards the picture, as she regarded, with her bright and
kindling eyes, the face of her lover; she said:--

"As you think now, thought he whose voice speaks to you from the canvas;
he, who pursued the path that you would tread; who, through the same toil,
the same pursuit, that you would endure, used the same powers and the same
genius you would command; he, who won,--what you might win also at
last,--the smile of princes, the trust of nobles, the shifting and sandy
elevation which the best, the wisest, and greatest statesmen in this
country, if unbacked by a sordid and caballing faction, can alone
obtain;--he warns you from that hollow distinction,--from its wretched
consummation. Oh, Godolphin!" she continued, subdued, and sinking from a
high-wrought but momentary paroxysm, uncommon to her collected character,
"Oh, Godolphin! I saw that man dying, deserted, lonely, cursed by his
genius, ruined by his prosperity. I saw him dying,--die,--of a broken and
trampled heart. Could I doom another victim to the same course, and the
same perfidy, and the same fate? Could I, with a silent heart, watch by
that victim; could I, viewing his certain doom, elate him with false
hopes?--No, no! fly from me,--from the thought of such a destiny. Marry
one who can bring you wealth, and support you with rank; _then_ be
ambitious if you will. Leave me to fulfil my doom,--my vow; and to think,
however wretched I may be, that I have not inflicted a permanent
wretchedness on you."

Godolphin sprang forward; but the door closed upon his eyes; and he saw
Constance--as Constance _Vernon_--no more.

CHAPTER XIX.

A RARE AND EXQUISITE OF THE BEST (WORST) SCHOOL.--A CONVERSATION ON A