CHAPTER XVIII.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown; No traveller ever reach'd that blest abode, Who found not thorns and briers in his road.

Cowper.

In her intercourse with the De Moltons, Lady Westhope observed that they seldom addressed each other; and that, in speaking of her husband, Blanche invariably called him Captain De Molton, instead of Frank, as she had formerly done; and that De Molton also, when speaking of his wife, added the title to her name, and even occasionally addressed her as "Lady" Blanche.

These were trifles, but yet they indicated much. Though grieved for her cousin's sake, Lady Westhope's reflections served to reconcile her to her own fate, and to confirm her in her opinion that

Every black must have its white, And every sweet its sour,

and that true wisdom consists in dwelling on the "sweets" of one's own peculiar lot, and striving to forget the "sours;" and though for herself she would still have chosen Blanche's trials rather than her own, it might be that she knew her own, and was not so well versed in Lady Blanche's. Yet her character was better fitted for Blanche's situation: she had more decision, more strength of mind, more pride,--not worldly pride, but pride of soul to persevere in the path which she had once chalked out for herself.

De Molton had keenly and painfully felt the coolness which had for months, nay almost years, been gradually increasing between them; and he was still more deeply wounded when she nearly confessed, or at least did not deny, her regret at having rejected Lord Glenrith for him. He could have found excuses for anything else. The pride of man, the tenderness of the husband, the sensitiveness of the individual, were all touched in the tenderest point.

"Could this," he thought, "be the same creature who was such a contemner of worldly wealth, so ardent a votary of love in a cottage, such an enthusiast for the pleasures of nature?" Alas! for poor Blanche! it was love in a lodging-house, not love in a cottage, that she had tried; and as to the pleasures of nature, the dusty suburbs of a country town are scarcely "the country" to a person brought up in the midst of an extensive park, in a wild and woody country.

De Molton recollected how, out of consideration for her, he had concealed his own feelings at Paris; how scrupulously he had avoided interfering with the more brilliant prospects which were opening before her; how, far from taking advantage of her unguarded confession of preference, he had banished himself from his native land; how, though hopeless, he had remained constant to her image for three long years; how, when he found her free, he had hastened to throw himself at her feet; how, without murmuring or repining, he gladly endured privations, the same that she did, and thought himself only too well rewarded if she would cheer their humble home with a smile. He thought over all these things, and he felt himself the most injured of men. Did he not deny himself every indulgence? Did he not even refuse himself the satisfaction of asking a friend to share his morsel?--the most galling self-denial enjoined by absolute poverty! Did not the responsibility of providing for their children weigh upon his mind? Was it not his duty to look forward to the time when education must commence; when boys must be sent to school, when girls must have masters? What parent will set down contented under the notion that his children will not be fitted by manners and education to move in the sphere in which they were born?--None, who are not without that commonest and strongest feeling in all created beings, parental affection--or who are not without the power of reflection! And how were these expenses to be met? How, but by increased economy on their part?

Such were the cares which pressed on De Molton's mind. How much better would it have been had he fairly communicated them all to his wife; had he frankly counselled with her upon the best plan to be pursued; had he openly laid before her his actual income, his actual expenses! But the constitutional reserve to which we have alluded prevented his pursuing this course.

It was most painful to him to refuse any of her wishes, and the very pain it gave him imparted to his manner of doing so a certain harshness which prevented Blanche from entering into his views. Her resistance to his views, or her martyr-like acquiescence in them, rendered him still less communicative, when, perhaps, had he pursued a more open line of conduct, a person who married with such good intentions as she did (though with little knowledge of things as they are) might have been led to suggest the very sacrifices at which she repined when they were demanded as a right.

Each succeeding day seemed to widen the breach between them. This result of a love-match afforded the materials for many a bad jest among some who called themselves their friends, while others saw nothing entertaining in the wreck of happiness to two people possessing many amiable qualities, though neither of them might be faultless. Some pitied Lady Blanche for having such a harsh and ungrateful tyrant for a husband; and some felt for the noble, uncompromising De Molton, whose home was evidently rendered miserable by a wilful, discontented wife. Some predicted a separation: some predicted that, beautiful as was Lady Blanche, and tired as she was of her home, the time would arrive when she would be induced to leave it, for one more brilliant, though less respectable;--although her manners were now so reserved, so decorous, a few years, and people would see the difference; a woman who had once loved so passionately, would not remain contented to pass her life from the age of twenty-eight in a state of cold indifference, if not of absolute dislike.

But those who thus prognosticated, proved uninspired prophets. Affection was still deep-rooted in both their hearts. The noxious weeds of petty grievances had choked, but not destroyed, the goodly plant. It still retained sufficient life, when moistened by the waters of affliction, to spring up with renewed vigour, and overcome in its growth the weeds which had almost stifled it.