when they chanced to meet, had led them trustingly to believe their commands on this head would be implicitly obeyed.  Perhaps Mrs. Hamilton’s penetration had played her false; it was strange that a mother so long accustomed to divine the thoughts and feelings of her children, should have been thus blind to the emotions with which Caroline believed she regarded Lord Alphingham.  But, surely, no farther proof than this was wanting to clearly demonstrate it was not true love she felt; had it been that real, pure, fervid passion, could one so unused to art have concealed the flushing cheek, the sparkling eye, the trembling voice, which would invariably have betrayed her?  No; it was infatuation,—­blind, maddening infatuation,—­strengthened by indignation towards her parents; by the wish to prove she could throw off their control, and choose for herself, and love whom and where and how she liked, without their choice and sympathy; and it was thus she completely veiled her feelings.  Can we condemn her mother for refusing to believe the child she had trained and watched, and prayed for so long, such an adept in deceit?  Can we blame her want of penetration in this instance, and think it unnatural in her character, when we remember how completely the character of her child was changed?  Surely not.  It would have been stranger had she, without proof, believed Caroline the girl she had really become.

The reflection that she could still write to Annie and hear from her, consoled her for the temporary separation; and she joined the Duchess with some degree of pleasure, which had, however, been slightly alloyed by a conversation with her mother before she left home.  Her spirit was in too excitable a state to hear advice calmly.  Every word Mrs. Hamilton so gently said on her conduct being more guarded now than when under her eye, her mild entreaties that for her sake Caroline would behave with reserve, all fell on a poisoned ear.  Sullenly she listened, and when her mother bade her farewell, it was with a heart grieving bitterly.  While smarting under supposed injuries, how little did Caroline imagine the real agony she inflicted on her mother.  If the gentle heart of Mrs. Hamilton had been wrung by the wayward conduct of her sister, how much more so must it have been wounded, when she saw so many of those evil qualities reflected in her child.

At Airslie, so the residence of the Duchess of Rothbury was called, Caroline found herself universally courted.  She knew she was admired, and she was flattered; but there was a ceaseless gnawing at her heart, which not even gratified vanity could still.  She knew not, would not know, it was remorse.  She believed it was the conduct of her parents; the chain that was thrown round her actions, her disappointment with regard to Lord Alphingham; for he was not, as in secret she hoped, he would be, one of the invited guests.  It was a task, a painful task, to write home, but she forced herself to speak of the scenes around, and sketch, with a masterly hand, some of the characters with whom she mingled; and her parents strove to be satisfied, though there was somewhat wanting in those letters which, when Caroline had been from home, they had never missed before.