“You are most welcome, dear child, as welcome as the command of this poor place and all that it contains can make you.  I am rejoiced to see you—­truly rejoiced.  I trust that you are not much fatigued; pray be seated again.”  He led me to my chair, and continued, “I am glad to perceive you have made acquaintance with Emily already; I see, in your being thus brought together, the foundation of a lasting friendship.  You are both innocent, and both young.  God bless you—­God bless you, and make you all that I could wish.”

He raised his eyes, and remained for a few moments silent, as if in secret prayer.  I felt that it was impossible that this man, with feelings manifestly so tender, could be the wretch that public opinion had represented him to be.  I was more than ever convinced of his innocence.  His manners were, or appeared to me, most fascinating.  I know not how the lights of experience might have altered this estimate.  But I was then very young, and I beheld in him a perfect mingling of the courtesy of polished life with the gentlest and most genial virtues of the heart.  A feeling of affection and respect towards him began to spring up within me, the more earnest that I remembered how sorely he had suffered in fortune and how cruelly in fame.  My uncle having given me fully to understand that I was most welcome, and might command whatever was his own, pressed me to take some supper; and on my refusing, he observed that, before bidding me good night, he had one duty further to perform, one in which he was convinced I would cheerfully acquiesce.  He then proceeded to read a chapter from the Bible; after which he took his leave with the same affectionate kindness with which he had greeted me, having repeated his desire that I should consider every thing in his house as altogether at my disposal.  It is needless to say how much I was pleased with my uncle—­it was impossible to avoid being so; and I could not help saying to myself, if such a man as this is not safe from the assaults of slander, who is?  I felt much happier than I had done since my father’s death, and enjoyed that night the first refreshing sleep which had visited me since that calamity.  My curiosity respecting my male cousin did not long remain unsatisfied; he appeared upon the next day at dinner.  His manners, though not so coarse as I had expected, were exceedingly disagreeable; there was an assurance and a forwardness for which I was not prepared; there was less of the vulgarity of manner, and almost more of that of the mind, than I had anticipated.  I felt quite uncomfortable in his presence; there was just that confidence in his look and tone, which would read encouragement even in mere toleration; and I felt more disgusted and annoyed at the coarse and extravagant compliments which he was pleased from time to time to pay me, than perhaps the extent of the atrocity might fully have warranted.  It was, however, one consolation that he did not often appear,