tia here eagerly interupted Barton; "His name!" exclaimed
she;--"O, for mercy tell me, could it be my father, Eusebius Beaumont?"

"The same," returned Barton, melting with pity at her filial anguish.
"Set thy kind heart at rest; he was not materially hurt; his property
has been restored. He is now at liberty, pursuing his journey, and the
robbers are secured. But why, dear maid, didst thou conceal thy name?
Had I known thou wast his daughter, thou shouldst even now have been in
his arms."

"O better, far not; for then he would have been a prisoner. But his
companion, my excellent aunt?"

"At liberty too; I handed her into their own calash, and saw them drive
off with a pass of safe conduct. But, pretty trembler, if she is so
excellent, I will make you her proxy, to give me the reward she refused
to my services. I did but ask for the kiss of peace at our parting, when
she drew back her head as if she were an empress, and stiffly answered,
'Sir, I am a Loyalist.'"

This faithful description of aunt Mellicent's unswerving decorum
diverted the young Evellins, and helped to dissipate Constantia's
terrors. Her rapturous acknowledgements of the humane Barton largely
repaid him for his services to her father. She listened to a
circumstantial detail of the difficulties with which he had contended
against the obstinacy and prejudices of the magistrates, to whom he had
applied for a fresh passport; of the fortunate combination of
circumstances which, had led to the pursuit and detection of the
thieves, with the original instrument in their possession, and of their
confession, commitment, and discovery of the place where they had
deposited their booty. "I parted from your father," continued he, "with
many affecting testimonies of mutual good-will, and I think aunt
Mellicent, as you call her, would almost have smiled upon me, had not my
vain heart indulged in too much joyous self-gratulation at the success
of my endeavours, and thus brought on that just rebuke of my
presumption. I did not ask your father to shew like mercy, whenever he
should find one of us in like affliction, for his eyes told me that his
conscience would be a better remembrancer than my tongue. I said,
however, that I trusted we should meet in a world, where slight
discrepancies of opinion would be no preventatives of friendship, though
in this life they kindled the animosities which it was our misfortune to
witness and deplore." "Sir," said he, pressing my h