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GODOLPHIN, Volume 4.
By Edward Bulwer Lytton
(Lord Lytton)
It was the evening before Godolphin left Rome. As he was entering hispalazzo he descried, in the darkness, and at a little distance, a figurewrapped in a mantle, that reminded him of Lucilla;—ere he could certifyhimself, it was gone.
On entering his rooms, he looked eagerly over the papers and notes on histable: he seemed disappointed with the result, and sat himself down inmoody and discontented thought. He had written to Lucilla the day before,a long, a kind, nay, a noble outpouring of his thoughts and feelings. Asfar as he was able to one so simple in her experience, yet so wild in herfancy, he explained to her the nature of his struggles and hisself-sacrifice. He did not disguise from her that, till the moment of herconfession, he had never examined the state of his heart towards her; northat, with that confession, a new and ardent train of sentiment had beenkindled within him. He knew enough of women to be aware, that the lastavowal would be the sweetest consolation both to her vanity and her heart.He assured her of the promises he had received from her relations to granther the liberty and the indulgence that her early and unrestrained habitsrequired; and, in the most delicate and respectful terms, he inclosed anorder for a sum of money sufficient at any time to command the regard ofthose with whom she lived, or to enable her to choose, should she sodesire (though he advised her not to adopt such a measure, save for themost urgent reasons), another residence. "Send me in return," he said, ashe concluded, "a lock of your hair. I want nothing to remind me of yourbeauty; but I want some token of the heart of whose affection I am somournfully proud. I will wear it as a charm against the contamination ofthat world of which you are so happily ignorant—as a memento of onenature beyond the thought of self—as a surety that, in finding withinthis base and selfish quarter of earth, one soul so warm, so pure asyours, I did not deceive myself, and dream. If we ever meet again, mayyou have then found some one happier than I am, and in his tenderness haveforgotten all of me save one kind remembrance.—Beautiful and dearLucilla, adieu! If I have not given way to the luxury of being beloved byyou, it is because your generous self-abandonment has awakened within aheart too selfish to others a real love for yourself."
To this letter Godolphin had, hour after hour, expected a reply. Hereceived none—not even the lock of hair for which he had pressed. He wasdisappointed—angry, with Lucilla—dissatisfied with himself. "Howbitterly," thought he, "the wise Saville would smile at my folly! I haverenounced the bliss of possessing this singular and beautiful being; forwhat?—a scruple which she cannot even comprehend, and at which, in herfriendless and forlorn state, the most starched of her dissolutecountrywomen would smile as a ridiculous punctilio. And, in truth, had Ifled hence with her, should I not have made her through out lifehappier—far happier, than she will be now? Nor would she, in thathappiness, have felt, like an English girl, any pang of shame. Here,the tie would have never been regarded as a degradation; nor does she,recurring to the simple laws of nature, imagine than any one could soregard it. Besides, inexperienced as she is—the creature ofimpulse—will she not fall a victim to some more artful and less generouslover?—to some one who in her innocence wil