cheeks; and I own I am satisfied."




CHAPTER XV.


"Gone! for ever gone from me!" said Lord Colambre to himself, as the
carriage drove away. "Never shall I see her more--never _will_ I see
her more, till she is married."

Lord Colambre went to his own room, locked the door, and was relieved
in some degree by the sense of privacy; by the feeling that he could
now indulge his reflections undisturbed. He had consolation--he had
done what was honourable--he had transgressed no duty, abandoned no
principle--he had not injured the happiness of any human being--he
had not, to gratify himself, hazarded the peace of the woman he
loved--he had not sought to win her heart. Of her innocent, her warm,
susceptible heart, he might, perhaps, have robbed her--he knew it--but
he had left it untouched, he hoped entire, in her own power, to bless
with it hereafter some man worthy of her. In the hope that she might
be happy, Lord Colambre felt relief; and in the consciousness that
he had made his parents happy, he rejoiced; but, as soon as his mind
turned that way for consolation, came the bitter reflection, that his
mother must be disappointed in her hopes of his accompanying her home,
and of his living with her in Ireland: she would be miserable when she
should hear that he was going abroad into the army--and yet it must be
so--and he must write, and tell her so. "The sooner this difficulty is
off my mind, the sooner this painful letter is written, the better,"