“O, she never will take any trouble about any thing,” said one of the party; “let’s go away.”

“O go! go! make haste,” cried Louisa; “don’t stay, they are so angry—­I will, I will, indeed!”

“Remember, then, that you have promised me,” said Leonora, and she left the room.  During all this time Cecilia had been in the garden with her companions.  The ambition which she had felt to win the first prize, the prize of superior talents and superior application, was not to be compared to the absolute anxiety which she now expressed to win this simple testimony of the love and approbation of her equals and rivals.

To employ her exuberant activity, she had been dragging branches of lilacs, and laburnums, roses, and sweet-briar, to ornament the bower in which her fate was to be decided.  It was excessively hot, but her mind was engaged, and she was indefatigable.  She stood still, at last, to admire her works; her companions all joined in loud applause.  They were not a little prejudiced in her favour by the great eagerness which she expressed to win their prize, and by the great importance which she seemed to affix to the preference of each individual.  At last, “Where is Leonora?” cried one of them, and immediately, as we have seen, they ran to call her.

Cecilia was left alone.  Overcome with heat and too violent exertion, she had hardly strength to support herself; each moment appeared to her intolerably long; she was in a state of the utmost suspense, and all her courage failed her; even hope forsook her, and hope is a cordial which leaves the mind depressed and enfeebled.  “The time is now come,” said Cecilia; “in a few moments it will be decided.  In a few moments! goodness! how much I do hazard!  If I should not win the prize, how shall I confess what I have done?  How shall I beg Leonora to forgive me?  I, who hoped to restore my friendship to her as an honour!—­they are gone to seek for her—­the moment she appears I shall be forgotten—­what shall—­what shall I do?” said Cecilia, covering her face with her hands.

Such was her situation, when Leonora, accompanied by her companions, opened the hall-door; they most of them ran forward to Cecilia.  As Leonora came into the bower, she held out her hand to Cecilia——­“We are not rivals, but friends, I hope,” said she.  Cecilia clasped her hand, but she was in too great agitation to speak.

The table was now set in the arbour—­the vase was now placed in the middle.  “Well!” said Cecilia, eagerly, “who begins?” Caroline, one of her friends, came forward first, and then all the others successively.  Cecilia’s emotion was hardly conceivable.——­“Now they are all in.  Count them, Caroline!”

“One, two, three, four; the numbers are both equal.”  There was a dead silence.

“No, they are not,” exclaimed Cecilia, pressing forward and putting a shell into the vase——­“I have not given mine, and I give it to Leonora.”  Then snatching the bracelet, “It is yours, Leonora,” said she; “take it, and give me back your friendship.”  The whole assembly gave a universal clap and shout of applause.