“Scorn! has a daughter of mine acted thus?  Encourage, and then scorn.  St. Eval, for pity’s sake, tell me! you are jesting; it is not of Caroline you speak.”  So spoke the now agonized father, for every hope of his child’s singleness of mind and purity of intention appeared at once blighted.  He grasped St. Eval’s hand, and looked on him with eyes from which, in the deep disappointment of his heart, all sternness had fled.

“I grieve to cause you pain, my dear friend,” replied the young Earl, entering at once into the father’s feelings, “but it is even so.  Your daughter has only acted as many, nay, as the majority of her sex are fond of doing.  It appears that you, too, have marked what might be termed the encouragement she gave me.  My self-love is soothed, for I might otherwise have deemed my hopes were built on the unstable foundation of folly and presumption.”

“And condemnation of my child is the fruit of your self-acquittal, St. Eval, is it not?  You despise her now as much as you have loved her,” and Mr. Hamilton paced the room with agitation.

“Would almost that I could!” exclaimed St. Eval; the young Earl then added, despondingly, “no, I deny not that your child has sunk in my estimation; I believed her exalted far above the majority of her sex; that she, apparently all softness and truth, was incapable of playing with the most sacred feelings of a fellow-creature.  I looked on her as faultless; and though the veil has fallen from my eyes, it tells me that if in Caroline Hamilton I am deceived, it is useless to look for perfection upon earth.  Yet I cannot tear her image from my heart.  She has planted misery there which I cannot at present overcome; but if that triumph yields her pleasure, and tends to her happiness, be it so; my farther attention shall no longer annoy her.”

Much disturbed, Mr. Hamilton continued to pace the room, then hastily approaching the young Earl, he said, hurriedly—­

“Forget her, St. Eval, forget her; rest not till you have regained your peace.  My disappointment, that of her mother—­our long-cherished hopes, but it is useless to speak of them, to bring them forward, bitter as they are, in comparison with yours.  Forget her, St. Eval; she is unworthy of you,” and he wrung his hand again and again, as if in that pressure he could conquer and conceal his feelings.  At that instant Emmeline bounded joyfully into the room, unconscious that any one was with her father, and only longing to tell him the delightful news that she had received a long, long letter from Mary, telling her of their safe arrival at Geneva, at which place Mrs. Greville intended to remain for a few weeks, before she proceeded more southward.