NOTE

TO THE

PRESENT EDITION.-1840.

THIS Novel ranks in the class of my earlier compositions, and has, in addition to its other defects, those that might naturally result from the youth of the Author. A few passages in the former edition, which appeared to me blemishes that would bear removal without injury to the general construction, have been omitted in the present; and some corrections and additions made, tending, let me hope, to improve the details of the narrative, and to render more minute the delineation of the characters.

London, April 17, 1840.

A 2

GODOLPHIN.

CHAPTER I.

THE DEATH-BED OF JOHN VERNON.-HIS DYING WORDS. -DESCRIPTION OF HIS DAUGHTER, THE HEROINE.THE OATH.

"Is the night calm, Constance?" "Beautiful! the moon is up."

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Open the shutters wider there. It is a beautiful night. How beautiful! Come hither, my child."

The rich moonlight that now shone through the windows streamed on little that it could invest with poetical attraction. The room was small, though not squalid in its character and appliances. The bed-curtains, of a dull chints, were drawn back, and showed the form of a man, past middle age, propped by pillows, and bearing on his countenance the marks of approaching death. But what a countenance it still was! The broad, pale, lofty brow; the fine, straight, Grecian nose; the short, curved lip; the full, dimpled chin; the stamp of genius in every line and lineament-these still defied disease, or, rather, borrowed from its very ghastliness a more impressive majesty. Beside the bed was a table spread with books of a motley character. Here an abstruse system of Calculations on Finance; there a volume of wild Bacchanalian Songs; here the lofty aspirations of Plato's "Phædon ;" and there the last speech of some County Paris on a Malt Tax; old newspapers and dusty pamphlets completed the intellectual litter; and above them rose, mournfully enough, the tall, spectral form of a half-emptied vial, and a chamber-candlestick crested by its extinguisher. A light step approached the bedside, and opposite

the dying man now stood a girl who might have seen her thirteenth year. But her features-of an exceeding, and what may be termed a regal beauty-were as fully developed as those of one who had told twice her years; and not a trace of the bloom or the softness of girlhood could be marked on her countenance. Her

complexion was pale as the whitest marble, but clear and lustrous; and her raven hair, parted over her brow in a fashion then uncommon, increased the statue-like and classic effect of her noble features. The expression of her countenance seemed cold, sedate, and somewhat stern: but it might, in some measure, have belied her heart; for, when turned to the moonlight, you might see that her eyes were filled with tears, though she did not weep; and you might tell, by the quivering of her lip, that a little hesitation in replying to any remark from the sufferer arose from her difficulty in commanding her emotions.

"Constance," said the invalid, after a pause, in which he seemed to have been gazing with a quiet heart on the soft skies, that, blue and eloquent with stars, he beheld through the unclosed windows, "Constance, the hour is coming; I feel it by signs which I cannot mistake. I shall die this night."

"Oh, God!-my father!-my dear, dear father!" broke from Constance's lips; "do not speak thus-do not I will go to Doctor-"