she saw with regret, that in her niece’s present state of health, even that pleasure must be denied her, for the very exertion attendant on it was too much.  Ellen never expressed regret, nor did she ever breathe even to her aunt how often, how very often, she longed once again to enjoy the fresh air of Oakwood, for London to her possessed not even the few attractions it did to Emmeline.  She ever struggled to be cheerful, to smile when her aunt looked anxiously at her, and strove to assure her that she was happy, perfectly happy.  Her never appearing as Emmeline did, and so very seldom even at home, certainly gave matter for observation to those who, seeking for it, refused to believe the true reason of her retirement.  Miss Harcourt, though she steadfastly refused to go out with her friend—­for Mrs. Hamilton never could allow that she filled any situation save that of a friend and relation of the family—­yet sometimes accompanied Emmeline to the Opera, and always joined Mrs. Hamilton at home.  Many, therefore, were the hours Ellen spent entirely alone, but she persevered unrepiningly in the course laid down for her by the first medical man in London, whom her aunt had consulted.

How she employed those lonely hours Mrs. Hamilton never would inquire.  Perfect liberty to follow her own inclinations she should enjoy at least; but it was not without pain that Mrs. Hamilton so frequently left her niece.  She knew that the greatest privation, far more than any of the pleasures her cousins enjoyed, was the loss of her society.  The mornings and evenings were now so much occupied, that it often happened that the Sabbath and the evening previous were the only times Ellen could have intercourse of any duration with her.  She regretted this deeply, for Ellen was no longer a child; she was at that age when life is in general keenly susceptible to the pleasures of society; and reserved as was her disposition, Mrs. Hamilton felt assured, the loss of that unchecked domestic intercourse she had so long enjoyed at Oakwood was pain, though never once was she heard to complain.  These contrary duties frequently grieved the heart of her aunt.  Often she accompanied Caroline when her inclination prompted her to remain at home; for she loved Ellen as her own child, and to tend and soothe her would sometimes have been the preferable duty; but she checked the wish, for suffering and solitary as was Ellen, Caroline, in the dangerous labyrinth of the world, required her care still more.

There are trials which the world regards not—­trials on which there are many who look lightly—­those productive of no interest, seldom of sympathy, but with pain to the sufferer; it is when health fails, not sufficiently to attract notice, but when the disordered state of the nerves renders the mind irritable, the body weak; when from that invisible weakness, little evils become great, the temper loses its equanimity, the spirits their elasticity, we scarcely know wherefore,