zel eyes were delicately drawn, and the slightly aquiline
nose might have formed a study for an artist. With the exception,
however, of this last-named feature, there was little in the individual
lineaments of the face to surprise or rivet the observer. Extreme
simplicity, and perfect innocence--these were stamped upon the
countenance, and were its charm. It was a strange feeling that possessed
me when I first gazed upon her through the chaste atmosphere that dwelt
around her. It was degradation deep and unaffected--a sense of shame and
undeservedness. I remembered with self-abhorrence the relation that had
existed between the unhappy Emma and myself, and the enormity and
disgrace of my offence never looked so great as now, and here--in the
bright presence of unconscious purity. She reassured and welcomed me
with a natural smile, and pursued her occupation with quiet cheerfulness
and unconstraint. I did not wonder that her father loved her, and
entertained the thought of losing her with fear; for, young and gentle
as she was, she evinced wisdom and age in her deep sense of duty, and in
the government of her happy home. Method and order waited on her doings,
and sweetness and tranquillity--the ease and dignity of a matron
elevating and upholding the maiden's native modesty. And did she not
love her sire as ardently? Yes, if her virgin soul spoke faithfully in
every movement of her guileless face. Yes, if there be truth in tones
that strike the heart to thrill it--in thoughts that write their meaning
in the watchful eye, in words that issue straight from the fount of
love, in acts that do not bear one shade of selfish purpose. It was not
a labour of time to learn that the existence of the child, her peace and
happiness, were merged in those of the fond parent. He was every thing
to her, as she to him. She had no brother--he no wife: these natural
channels of affection cut away, the stream was strong and deep that
flowed into each other's hearts. My first interview with the young lady
was necessarily limited. I would gladly have prolonged it. The morning
was passed with my pupils, and my mind stole often from the work before
me to dwell upon the face and form of her, whom, as a sister, I could
have doated on and cherished. How happy I should have been, I deemed, if
I had been so blessed. Useless reflection! and yet pleased was I to
dwell upon it, and to welcome its return, as often as it recurred. At
dinner we met again. To