on some state affairs with the Russian consul could have imagined how painfully acute were his sufferings; it was not only disappointed love—­no, his was aggravated bitterness; he could no longer esteem the object of his love, he had found himself deceived, cruelly deceived, in one he had looked on almost as faultless; and where is the pang that can equal one like this?  The heightened colour on Caroline’s cheek, the increased brilliancy of her eye, attracted the admiration of all around her, the triumph of power had indeed been achieved.  But when she laid her head on her pillow, when the silence and darkness of night brought the past to her mind more vividly, in vain she sought forgetfulness in sleep.  Was it happiness, triumph, that bade her bury her face in her hands and weep, weep till almost every limb became convulsed by her overpowering emotion?  Her thoughts were undefined, but so painful, that she was glad—­how glad when morning came.  She compared her present with her former self, and the contrast was misery; but even as her ill-fated aunt had done, she summoned pride to stifle every feeding of remorse.

Mr. Hamilton had given his sanction to the addresses of Lord St. Eval to his daughter; but he knew not when, the young man intended to place the seal upon his fate.  Great then was his astonishment, the morning following the evening we have mentioned, when St. Eval called to bid him farewell, as he intended, he said, leaving London that afternoon for his father’s seat, where he should remain perhaps a week, and then quit England for the Continent.  He spoke calmly, but there was a paleness of the cheek, a dimness of the eye, that told a tale of inward wretchedness, which the regard of Mr. Hamilton could not fail instantly to discover.  Deeply had he become interested in the young man, and the quick instinct combined with the fears of a father, told him that the conduct of Caroline had caused this change.  He looked at the expressive countenance of the young Earl for a few minutes, then placing his hand on his shoulder, said kindly, but impressively—­

“St. Eval, you are changed, as well as your plans.  You are unhappy.  What has happened?  Have your too sensitive feelings caused you to fancy Caroline unkind?”

“Would to heaven it were only fancy!” replied St. Eval, with unwonted emotion, and almost convulsively clenching both hands as if for calmness, added more composedly, “I have been too presumptuous in my hopes; I fancied myself beloved by your beautiful daughter, but I have found myself painfully mistaken.”

Sternness gathered on the brow of the father as he heard, and he answered, with painful emphasis—­

“St. Eval, deceive me not, I charge you.  In what position do you now stand with Caroline?”

“Briefly, then, if I must speak, in the humble character of a rejected, scornfully rejected lover.”  His feelings carried him beyond control.  The triumph he had seen glittering so brightly in the eyes of Caroline had for the time turned every emotion into gall.  He shrunk from the agony it was to find he was deceived in one whom he had believed so perfect.