which subjects Lancashire ladies to the imputation of
witchcraft, (a charge too clearly proved against them to be denied,) it
was not the fascination of her eyes which drew the loitering step, fixed
the unconscious gaze, and almost charmed to repose the stranger's untold
sorrows. The wife of his friend excited only the respect and esteem of
this antique courtier; but a young unaffianced Arachne sat spinning by
her side, discreet and ingenious as Minerva, rosy and playful as Hebe.
This was Isabel, the younger sister of his reverence, who, not inwardly
displeased that the family party was enlarged by such an agreeable
guest, nor wholly unconscious of the power of her own charms, strove
with all the unsuspecting confidence of youth to amuse a visitor whom
her honoured brother pronounced worthy of esteem and pity, and willingly
exerted her arch vivacity to divert a melancholy of which no one knew
the cause. Evellin soon discovered that he interested the fair recluse,
and though she was not the first lady who viewed him with favour, he was
flattered by an attention which he could not impute to extrinsic
qualities. "She certainly pities me," observed he, on perceiving an
unnoticed tear steal down her cheek, when with unguarded confidence,
momentarily excited by the benign manners and calm happiness of his
host, he inveighed against the treachery of courts and the weakness of
Kings. "Can she love me?" was his next thought; "or why this lively
interest in my sorrows?" This doubt, or rather hope, was suggested by
hearing Isabel sob aloud while he told Dr. Beaumont not to look for any
earthly return for the kindness he shewed him. "Were my fortunes," said
he one day to his hospitable friends, "equal to my birth, you should
find me a prodigal in my gratitude, but my own folly in 'believing
integrity of manners and innocence of life are a guard strong enough to
secure any man in his voyage through the world in what company soever he
travelled, and through what ways soever he was to pass[1],' furnished my
enemies with weapons which have been used to my undoing. For this last
year I have suffered alternate hopes and fears. Whether my heart is sick
of suspence, or the clouds of mischance really thicken around me, I can
scarcely ascertain, but my meditations grow more gloomy, and I believe
myself doomed to an obscure life of little usefulness to others, and
less enjoyment to myself. Among my privations I must rank that of
spending my day