The young Earl had received the glad sanction of Mr. Hamilton to make his proposals to his daughter.  There had never been, nor was there now, anything to damp his hopes.  He was not, could not be deceived in the belief that Caroline accepted, nay, demanded, encouraged his attention.  Invariably kind, almost fascinating in her manner, she had ever singled him out from the midst of many much gayer and more attractive young men.  She had given him somewhat more to love each time they parted; and what could this mean, but that she cared for him more than for others?  Again and again St. Eval pondered on the encouragement he could not doubt but that he received; again and again demanded of himself if he were not playing with her feelings thus to defer his proposals.  Surely she loved him.  The sanction of her parents had heightened his hopes, and love and confidence in the truth, the purity of his beloved one obtained so much ascendancy over his heart, that when the important words were said, he had almost ceased to fear.  How bitter, how agonizing then must have been his disappointment when he was refused—­when sudden haughtiness beamed on Caroline’s noble brow, and coldness spread over every feature.  And yet, could he doubt it?  No; triumph was glittering in her sparkling eye; in vain he looked for sympathy in his disappointment, if love were denied him.  He gazed on her, and the truth suddenly flashed on his mind; he marked the triumph with which she heard his offer; no softening emotion was in her countenance.  In vain he tried to ascribe its expression to some other feeling; it was triumph, he could not be deceived; and with agony St. Eval discovered that the being he had almost worshipped was not the faultless creature he had believed her; she had played with his feelings; she had encouraged him, heightened his love, merely to afford herself amusement.  The visions of hope, of fancy were rudely dispelled, and perhaps at that moment it was better for his peace that he suddenly felt she was beneath his love; she was not worthy to be his wife.  He no longer esteemed; and if love itself were not utterly snapped asunder, the loss of esteem enabled him to act in that interview with pride approaching to her own.  He reproached her not:  no word did he utter that could prove how deeply he was wounded, and thus add to the triumph so plain to be perceived.  That she had sunk in his estimation she might have seen, but other feelings prevented her discovering how deeply.  Had she veiled her manner more, had she rejected him with kindness, St. Eval might still have loved, and imagined that friendship and esteem had actuated her conduct towards him.  Yet those haughty features expelled this thought as soon as it arose.  It was on the night of a gay assembly St. Eval had found an opportunity to speak with Caroline, and when both rejoined the gay crowd no emotion was discernible in the countenance of either.  St. Eval was the same to all as usual.  No one who might have heard his eloquent discussion