If happiness in this world is not for me, I will endeavour to promote the welfare of those around me, and my reward shall be hereafter.' So said I in my heart; and from that hour I only permitted my thoughts to wander to Edward Weston--or at least to dwell upon him now and then--as a treat for rare occasions: and, whether it was really the approach of summer or the effect of these good resolutions, or the lapse of time, or all together, tranquillity of mind was soon restored; and bodily health and vigour began likewise, slowly, but surely, to return.
Early in June, I received a letter from Lady Ashby, late Miss Murray.
She had written to me twice or thrice before, from the different stages of her bridal tour, always in good spirits, and professing to be very happy.

I wondered every time that she had not forgotten me, in the midst of so much gaiety and variety of scene.

At length, however, there was a pause; and it seemed she had forgotten me, for upwards of seven months passed away and no letter.

Of course, I did not break my heart about _that_, though I often wondered how she was getting on; and when this last epistle so unexpectedly arrived, I was glad enough to receive it.
It was dated from Ashby Park, where she was come to settle down at last, having previously divided her time between the continent and the metropolis.

She made many apologies for having neglected me so long, assured me she had not forgotten me, and had often intended to write, &c.
&c., but had always been prevented by something.