etreat, and immediately reentered,
with some faint hopes that our interview had not been observed.

'But, alas! Matilda, these hopes vanished the instant I beheld Mr.
Mervyn's countenance at breakfast the next morning. He looked so
provokingly intelligent and confidential, that, had I dared, I could have
been more angry than ever I was in my life; but I must be on good
behaviour, and my walks are now limited within his farm precincts, where
the good gentleman can amble along by my side without inconvenience. I
have detected him once or twice attempting to sound my thoughts, and
watch the expression of my countenance. He has talked of the flageolet
more than once, and has, at different times, made eulogiums upon the
watchfulness and ferocity of his dogs, and the regularity with which the
keeper makes his rounds with a loaded fowling-piece. He mentioned even
man-traps and springguns. I should be loth to affront my father's old
friend in his own house; but I do long to show him that I am my father's
daughter, a fact of which Mr. Mervyn will certainly be convinced if ever
I trust my voice and temper with a reply to these indirect hints. Of one
thing I am certain--I am grateful to him on that account--he has not told
Mrs. Mervyn. Lord help me, I should have had such lectures about the
dangers of love and the night air on the lake, the risk arising from
colds and fortune-hunters, the comfort and convenience of sack-whey and
closed windows! I cannot help trifling, Matilda, though my heart is sad
enough. What Brown will do I cannot guess. I presume, however, the fear
of detection prevents his resuming his nocturnal visits. He lodges at an
inn on the opposite shore of the lake, under the name, he tells me, of
Dawson; he has a bad choice in names, that must be allowed. He has not
left the army, I believe, but he says nothing of his present views,

'To complete my anxiety, my father is returned suddenly, and in high
displeasure. Our good hostess, as I learned from a bustling conversation
between her housekeeper and her, had no expectation of seeing him for a
week; but I rather suspect his arrival was no surprise to his friend Mr.
Mervyn. His manner to me was singularly cold and constrained,
sufficiently so to have damped all the courage with which I once resolved
to throw myself on his generosity. He lays the blame of his being
discomposed and out of humour to the loss of a purchase in the south-west
of Scotland on which he had se