She found a great consolation in
assiduously attending Catherine's sick-bed. Misfortune had schooled
every particle of pride from her breast, and she was a prey to
remorse. She accused herself--not indeed entirely without
justice--of having caused the miseries, the effects of which she was
now suffering. 'Would,' she exclaimed to Dodbury one day, 'I could
recall the past!'
Catherine's recovery was protracted; and, alas! when she appeared in
public, it was perceived that the disease had robbed her of her
brightest charms. Her face was covered with unsightly marks. Still,
the graceful figure, the winning smile, the fascinating manner,
remained; and few, after the first shock of the change had passed
away, missed the former loveliness of the once beautiful Catherine.
A year passed. By slow and cautious hints and foreshadowings, the
truth was revealed; but Miss Dodbury bore all with resignation.
'It is perhaps better for me,' she one day said to Mrs Hardman, 'that
it is so. Had he loved and wedded another, I dared no longer to have
cherished his image as I do.
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