Now, strange to say, this heartless bit of villany was any thing but unpleasing to the foolish, flattered heart of Mrs. Tracy; he was a chip of the old block, no better than his father:  so she thanked “dear Julian” for his confidence, with admiration and emotion; and looking upwards, after the fashion of a Covent Garden martyr, blessed him.

CHAPTER VII.

The course of true love, etc.

“Emily, my dear, take Julian’s arm:  here, Charles, come and change with me; I should like a walk with you to Oxton, to see how your little scholars get on.”  So spake the intriguing mother.

“Why, that is just what I was going to do with Charles,” said Emily, “and if Julian will excuse me—­”

“Oh, never mind me, Miss Warren, pray; come along with me, will you, mother?”

So they paired off in more well-matched couples (for Julian luckily took huff), and went their different ways:  with those went hatred, envy, worldly scheming, and that lowest sort of love that ill deserves the name; with these remain all things pure, affectionate, benevolent.

“Charles, dear,” (they were just like brother and sister, innocent and loving), “how kind it is of you to take me with you; if you only knew how I dreaded Julian!”

“Why, Emmy? can he have offended you in any way?”

“Oh, Charles, he is so rude, and says such silly things, and—­I am quite afraid to be alone with him.”

“What—­what—­what does he say to you, Emily?” hurriedly urged her half-avowed lover.

“Oh, don’t ask me, Charles—­pray drop the subject;” and, as she blushed, tears stood in her eyes.

Charles bit his lip and clenched his fist involuntarily; but an instant word of prayer drove away the spirit of hatred, and set up love triumphant in its place.

“My Emily—­oh, what have I said? may I—­may I call you my Emily? dearest, dearest girl!” escaped his lips, and he trembled at his own presumption.  It was a presumptuous speech indeed; but it burst from the well of his affections, and he could not help it.

Her answer was not in words, and yet his heart-strings thrilled beneath the melody; for her eyes shed on him a blaze of love that made him almost faint before them.  In an instant, they understood, without a word, the happy truth, that each one loved the other.

“Precious, precious Emily!” They were now far away from Burleigh, in the fields; and he seized her hand, and covered it with kisses.

What more they said I was not by to hear, and if I had been would not have divulged it.  There are holy secrets of affection, which those who can remember their first love—­and first love is the only love worth mentioning—­may think of for themselves.  Well, far better than my feeble pencilling can picture, will they fill up this slight sketch.  That walk to Oxton, that visit to the village school, was full of generous affections unrepressed, the out-pourings of two deep-welled hearts, flowing forth in sympathetic ecstasy.  The trees, and fields, and cottages were bathed in heavenly light, and the lovers, happy in each other’s trust, called upon the all-seeing God to bless the best affections of His children.