by the maid in the ante-chamber, that Miss Moseley was up, and had been writing.  On entering, Mrs. Wilson stood a moment in admiration of the picture before her.  Emily was on her knees, and by her side, on the carpet, lay the letter and its answer:  her face was hid by her hair, and her hands were closed in the fervent grasp of petition.  In a minute she rose, and approaching her aunt with an air of profound resignation, but great steadiness, she handed her the letters, her own unsealed: 

“Read them, madam, and if you approve of mine, I will thank you to deliver it.”

Her aunt folded her in her arms, until Emily, finding herself yielding under the effects of sympathy, begged to be left alone.  On withdrawing to her own room, Mrs. Wilson read the contents of the two letters.

“I rely greatly on the goodness of Miss Moseley to pardon the liberty I am taking, at a moment she is so unfit for such a subject; but my departure—­my feelings—–­ must plead my apology.  From the moment of my first acquaintance with you, I have been a cheerful subject to your loveliness and innocence.  I feel—­I know—­I am not deserving of such a blessing; but since knowing you, as I do, it is impossible not to strive to win you.  You have often thanked me as the preserver of your life, but you little knew the deep interest I had in its safety.  Without it my own would be valueless.  By accepting my offered hand, you will place me amongst the happiest, or by rejecting it, the most wretched of men.”

To this note, which was unsigned, and evidently written under great agitation of mind, Emily had-penned the following reply: 

“Sir—­It is with much regret that I find myself reduced to the possibility of giving uneasiness to one to whom I am under such heavy obligations.  It will never be in my power to accept the honor you have offered me; and I beg you to receive my thanks for the compliment conveyed in your request, as well as my good wishes for your happiness in future, and fervent prayers that you may be ever found worthy of it—­Your humble servant,

“EMILY MOSELEY.”

Perfectly satisfied with this answer, Mrs. Wilson went below in order to deliver it at once.  She thought it probable, as Denbigh had already sent his baggage to a tavern, preparatory to his intended journey, they would not meet again; and as she felt a strong wish, both on account of Doctor Ives, and out of respect to the services of the young man himself, to conceal his conduct from the world entirely, she was in hopes that his absence might make any disclosure unnecessary.  He took the letter from her with a trembling hand, and casting one of his very expressive looks at her, as if to read her thoughts, he withdrew.

Emily had fallen asleep free from fever, and Mrs. Wilson had descended to the supper-room, when Mr. Benfield was first struck with the absence of his favorite.  An inquiry after Denbigh was instituted, and while they were waiting his appearance, a servant handed the old man a note.