tect her he loved, he sacrificed his present enjoyment. Emily, also, with a bleeding heart, had bid a tender and long farewell to the man who had gained her young heart; even at the time when he sought amusement only, like the angler, who, in the pursuance of his sport, returns the delicate, wounded, though diminutive gudgeon to his native element, as soon as the noble pike crowns his labours. But love is blind: she knew him only as he expressed himself, — the devoted lover; and now that danger impended she consented to, nay desired, his absence; and thus they had parted, each fearing more for the other than themselves.

state.

For some time after Ernest's departure all at the Grove continued in its ordinary quiescent Mr. Yorke felt satisfied that in the removal of his nephew all danger for the present was at an end; and Emily was comparatively tranquil, knowing her lover was safe from the influence of his uncle's displeasure. "Hope told a flattering tale;" and she looked forward, with the buoyancy of youthful feeling, to a time she dared to foresee was not very far distant, when he would return, and Dame Fortune and Mr. Yorke would smile upon their union. His last

words for ever rung like music in her ears, and she dwelt with rapture on the expressions of attachment he had lavished upon her.

Such was the state of her feelings when the fact of his name being in the list of missing burst upon her. Already were her spirits harassed by her brother's unaccountable silence, and this event preyed heavily on her mind. She relapsed into her despondency; and sighs, as heavy as they were distressing, were frequently the only answer which could be obtained by the remonstrances of her friends. Often was her name pronounced ineffectually, while she gazed vacantly upon the speaker; yet she rarely uttered a word which had reference to him: she appeared jealous of her grief, and confined it to her own safe keeping. This intensity of suffering could not, and it did not last, without evil consequences accruing: illness followed; and it was principally owing to the sisterly kindness of Agnes Camden that her health was restored, and her mind recovered its tone. That amiable girl cherished Emily with the warmth and affection of a sister, generated, partly, by her love for Conrad, as well as by early associations and admiration of her estimable qualities. The ad

vantages the orphan had enjoyed, of superior education, had not been without their benefit to Agnes, to whom Emily failed not to impart what she reaped, and thus their love ripened with their years until the present time.

It was now that Agnes was able, by her consolation, to return the kindness she had received; and, by her arguments, and pious conversations, to soothe the wounded spirit of her friend. Together they would discourse for hours of the two individuals who held so paramount a place in the love and destiny of each, and who both appeared, for a time at least, if not for ever, lost to them. Mutually they would listen to and endeavour to relieve the fears and anxieties of the other; and thus, in their friend's sorrow, they for a space would absorb their own. Time, and the softening influence of sympathy and participation, assisted by natural good sense, by degrees restored to Emily some portion of her equanimity; but though her appearance bespoke renovation, she was no longer the same in sentiment. Hope no longer sparkled in her eye, or kindled its pure flame in her aching breast: she thought of Ernest as of the departed, and felt that happiness was for ever fled from

her. Yet, at times, when Agnes hinted the possibility of his being still alive, and urged the important fact of their ignorance of his death, she would yield for a moment to the pleasing tale, and allow herself to be led away by hope: but it was only a momentary flash; for, in a short interval, she would turn her tearful eyes on her comforter, and then, with a mournful smile, she would thank Agnes for her kind attempts to raise her spirits, and again sink into the patient enduring victim. But these ebullitions of her sentiments wore away, and were succeeded by calm resignation. This had lasted about a year and a half, when Mr. Yorke conceived the project of marrying her to a young man, whose father had lately bought an estate a few miles distant; hoping, and intending by that means, to give a new course to her thoughts and feelings, and also to remove her permanently out of his nephew's way, should fate ever decree his return.

Frank Mason was heir to a large funded property, and had received a liberal and polite education; such as is conveyed by the public school and university, followed by the finished elegance of a continental residence. He was, however,

somewhat of a puppy: conceited, rather fastidious as to his appearance, and, in short, generally made self his principal consideration; yet he was a favourite with many, being a gay and pleasant companion, and by no means deficient in good sense. He was a constant visiter at the Grove, where Mr. Yorke's kindness and courtesy was not his only attraction. No! much as he respected that gentleman, he found a far stronger claim upon his time in the striking beauty of Emily Blessington. He would pass hours in contemplating her loveliness; in her presence he almost forgot the only being he really cared for-himself. He would watch her every action with interest; and when she spoke, which was but seldom, he dwelt with rapture upon her every word. It was on perceiving these symptoms of passion that Mr. Yorke formed the project already mentioned; but not considering it yet ripe for execution, he resolved to defer his interference for a while.

Emily, herself, with every thought, every passion locked up in her lost Ernest, saw not, or if she saw, heeded not, young Mason's marked attentions with an ease and elegance of manner peculiar to her, she treated him as a friend, but