nny, how much I expect from you,
and how fully I trust that my expectations will be realised, you would
not, at any rate, answer me lightly."

"Adolphus," said Fanny, "I thought there was to be no flattering
between us?"

"And do you think I would flatter you? Do you think I would stoop to
flatter you? Oh! Fanny, you don't understand me yet; you don't at all
understand, how thoroughly from the heart I'm speaking--how much in
earnest I am; and, so far from flattering you, I am quite as anxious
to find fault with you as I am to praise you, could I feel that I had
liberty to do so."

"Pray do," said Fanny: "anything but flattery; for a friend never
flatters."

But Kilcullen had intended to flatter his fair cousin, and he had been
successful. She was gratified and pleased by his warmth of affection.
"Pray do," repeated Fanny; "I have more faults than virtues to be told
of, and so I'm afraid you'll find out, when you know me better."

"To begin, then," said Kilcullen, "are you not wrong--but no, Fanny, I
will not torment you now with a catalogue of faults. I did not ask you
to come out with me for that object. You are now in grief for the death
of poor Harry"--Fanny blushed as she reflected how much more poignant
a sorrow weighed upon her heart--"and are therefore unable to exert
yourself; but, as soon as you are able--when you have recovered from
this severe blow, I trust you will not be content to loiter and dawdle
away your existence at Grey Abbey."

"Not the whole of it," said Fanny.

"None of it," replied her cousin. "Every month, every day, should
have its purpose. My father has got into a dull, heartless, apathetic
mode of life, which suits my mother and Selina, but which will never
suit you. Grey Abbey is like the Dead Sea, of which the waters are
always bitter as well as stagnant. It makes me miserable, dearest
Fanny, to see you stifled in such a pool. Your beauty, talents, and
energies--your disposition to enjoy life, and power of making it
enjoyable for others, are all thrown away. Oh, Fanny, if I could rescue
you from this!"

"You are inventing imaginary evils," said she; "at any rate they are
not palpable to my eyes."

"That's it; that's just what I fear," said the other, "that time,
habit, and endurance may teach you to think that nothing further is
to be looked for in this world than vegetation at Grey Abbey, or some
other place of the kind, to which you may be transplanted. I want to
wake you fro