“My dear cousin, what might you not be if you chose!”

“Ah!  I know what you mean, and I begin to think you are in the right; by-and-bye, I believe, I shall come to be of your way of thinking (if ever I have a daughter she certainly shall), but not just at present, the reformation would be too sudden.  All that I can promise for at present is, that ’henceforth I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults;’ and now, from this day, from this moment, I vow—­”

“No, I shall do it for you,” said Mary, with a smile, as she threw her arms around her neck; “henceforth

   ’The golden laws of love shall be
    Upon this pillar hung;
    A simple heart, a single eye,
    A true and constant tongue.

    ’Let no man for more love pretend
    Than he has hearts in store;
    True love begun shall never end: 
    Love one, and love no more.’” [1]

[1] “Marquis of Montrose.”

But much as Mary loved and admired her cousin, she could not be blind to the defects of her character, and she feared they might yet be productive of great unhappiness to herself.  Her mind was open to the reception of every image that brought pleasure along with it; while, in the same spirit, she turned from everything that wore an air of seriousness or self-restraint; and even the best affections of a naturally good heart were borne away by the ardour of her feelings and the impetuosity of her temper.  Mary grieved to see the graces of a noble mind thus running wild for want of early culture; and she sought by every means, save those of lecture and admonition to lead her to more fixed habits of reflection and self examination.

But it required all her strength of mind to turn her thoughts at this time from herself to another—­she, the betrothed of one who was now in the midst of danger, of whose existence she was even uncertain, but on whose fate she felt her own suspended.

“Oh!” thought she, with bitterness of heart, “how dangerous it is to yield too much even to our best affections.  I, with so many objects to share in mine, have yet pledged my happiness on a being perishable as myself!” And her soul sickened at the ills her fancy drew.  But she strove to repress this strength of attachment, which she felt would otherwise become too powerful for her reason to control; and if she did not entirely succeed, at least the efforts she made and the continual exercise of mind enabled her in some degree to counteract the baleful effects of morbid anxiety and overweening attachment.  At length her apprehensions were relieved for a time by a letter from Colonel Lennox.  An engagement with the enemy had taken place, but he had escaped unhurt.  He repeated his vows of unalterable affection; and Mary felt that she was justified in receiving them.  She had made Lady Juliana and Mrs. Douglas both acquainted with her situation.  The former had taken no notice of the communication, but the latter had expressed her approval in all the warmth and tenderness of gratified affection.