art," said Mrs. Hazleton, thoughtfully, "and more
forbearance than I ever knew in one so young; but it cannot last for
ever; and when he is of age, which will be in a few days, he must act;
and I trust will act kindly and gently--I am sure he will, if nothing
occurs to irritate a bold and decided character."

"But act how?" inquired Emily, eagerly; "you forget, dear Mrs. Hazleton,
that I am quite in the dark in this matter. I dare say that he is all
that you say; but I will own that neither his manners generally, nor his
demeanor on that occasion, led me to think very well of him, or to
believe that he was of a forbearing or gentle nature."

"He has faults," said Mrs. Hazleton, dryly; "oh yes, he has faults, but
they are those of manner, more than heart or character--faults produced
by circumstances which may be changed by circumstances--which would
never have existed, had he had, earlier, one judicious, kind, and
experienced friend to counsel and direct him. They are disappearing
rapidly, and, if ever he should fall under the influences of a generous
and noble spirit, will vanish altogether."

She was preparing the way, skilfully exciting, as she saw, some interest
in Emily, and yet producing some alarm.

"But still you do not explain," said the beautiful girl, anxiously; "do
not, dear Mrs. Hazleton, keep me longer in suspense."

"I cannot--I ought not, Emily, to explain all to you," replied the lady,
"it would be a long and painful story; but this I may tell you, and
after that, ask me no more. That young man has your father's fortunes
and his fate entirely in his hands. He has forborne long. Heaven grant
that his forbearance may still endure."

She ceased, and after one glance at Emily's face, she cast down her
eyes, and seemed to fall into thought.

Emily gazed up towards the sky, as if seeking counsel there, and then,
bursting into tears, hurriedly quitted the room.

CHAPTER XX.

Emily's night was not peaceful. The very idea that her father's fate was
in the power of any other man, was, in itself, trouble enough; but in
the present case there was more. Why, or wherefore, she knew not; but
there was something told her that, in spite of all Mrs. Hazleton's
commendations, and the fair portrait she had so elaborately drawn, John
Ayliffe was not a man to use power mercifully. She tried eagerly to
discover what had created this impression: she thought of every look and
every word which she had seen upon the y