ot be persuaded that cheerfulness was incompatible
with righteousness; nor could all the railings she heard against them
make her hate those who differed from her in religious opinions. Still
she made no complaint. Entirely obedient to her father's will, she
accommodated herself, as far as she could, to the rule of life
prescribed by him. Aware of his pertinacity of opinion, she seldom or
ever argued a point with him, even if she thought right might be on her
side; holding it better to maintain peace by submission, than to hazard
wrath by disputation. The discussion on the May Games was an exception
to her ordinary conduct, and formed one of the few instances in which
she had ventured to assert her own opinion in opposition to that of her
father.

Of late, indeed, she had felt great uneasiness about him. Much changed,
he seemed occupied by some dark, dread thought, which partially revealed
itself in wrathful exclamations and muttered menaces. He seemed to
believe himself chosen by Heaven as an instrument of vengeance against
oppression; and her fears were excited lest he might commit some
terrible act under this fatal impression. She was the more confirmed in
the idea from the eagerness with which he had grasped at Jocelyn's rash
promise, and she determined to put the young man upon his guard.

If, in order to satisfy the reader's curiosity, we are obliged to
examine the state of Aveline's heart, in reference to Jocelyn, we must
state candidly that no such ardent flame was kindled within it as burnt
in the breast of the young man. That such a flame might arise was very
possible, nay even probable, seeing that the sparks of love were there;
and material for combustion was by no means wanting. All that was
required was, that those sparks should be gently fanned--not heedlessly
extinguished.

Little was said by the two young persons, as they slowly paced the
terrace. Both felt embarrassed: Jocelyn longing to give utterance to his
feelings, but restrained by timidity--Aveline trembling lest more might
be said than she ought to hear, or if obliged to hear, than she could
rightly answer. Thus they walked on in silence. But it was a silence
more eloquent than words, since each comprehended what the other felt.
How much they would have said was proclaimed by the impossibility they
found of saying anything!

At length, Jocelyn stopped, and plucking a flower, observed, as he
proffered it for her acceptance, "My first offering