she felt it so, and dreaded the return of mental agony, as bodily sufferers await the periodical paroxysms of pain.  She resolved not to give way to the exhaustion she still felt.  She rejoined the family at tea, pale indeed, but perfectly composed, and even faintly smiling on her father, who, hastily rising as she languidly and unexpectedly entered the room, carried her tenderly in his arms to a couch, compelled her to lie down, and bending over her with that soothing fondness which she so much loved, retained his seat by her side all the evening, though participating and frequently inducing her to join in the conversation on various topics, which Mrs. Hamilton and Ellen seemed determined to maintain.  Once during that evening Emmeline had looked up beseechingly in her father’s face, and that touching, silent eloquence told all she would have said, far more expressively than words.

“Justice shall be done, my Emmeline,” he replied, gently drawing her to him, and speaking in a tone that was heard by her alone.  “I have been harsh, prejudiced, as cruelly unjust as blindly imposed on by a comparative stranger; but I promise you, all shall be impartially considered.  I have done this unfortunate young man much wrong, for I should have recollected his father has many enemies, and this may be one of them, seeking from revenge to injure him.  I am grateful to Arthur Myrvin for his forbearance towards myself, for his truly noble conduct towards you—­right principles alone could have dictated both.  Mrs. Langford has confirmed all you said, and informed me of many little circumstances which if, on a strict examination, I find are founded on truth, Jefferies’ character and base designs will not be difficult to fathom.  Myrvin’s character shall be cleared from suspicion, if it be in my power, my dear girl; rest as confident on my promise to that effect, as I do on yours, that, this accomplished, you will ask no more.”

Emmeline’s head rested on his shoulder; he had marked the relief, the gratitude her sweet face expressed during his first words, but as he ceased, her eyes were hid upon his bosom, and he could read no more.  It was well for the steadiness of his determination that it was so, for the wretchedness imprinted on every feature, every line of her countenance, at his concluding sentence, would have wrung his soul.

Though persuaded by her parents to retire early, Emmeline did not do so till the usual hour of separation after prayers.  To Ellen’s silently-observing eye she appeared to shrink from being alone, and this thought haunted her so incessantly, that, instead of composing herself to rest, she softly traversed the short distance which separated their apartments, and entered her cousin’s room.

Emmeline was alone, undressed, a large wrapping robe flung carelessly over her night attire, but instead of reading, which at that hour, and in that guise, she generally did, that the word of God might be the last book on which she looked ere she sought her rest, she was leaning abstractedly over the fire, seated on a low stool, her hands pressed on her temples, while the flickering flame cast a red and unnatural glare on those pale cheeks.  Ellen advanced, but her cousin moved not at her entrance, nor even when she knelt by her side, and twined her arms around her.