ou might have
been now a plighted bride, or still happier wife. I much doubt, by a
few hints he dropped, if his late departure from town was not occasioned
by Mr. Hamilton's positive refusal to sanction his addresses to you. If
he has demanded your hand, and been rejected without your knowledge,
your father and mother have treated you with much confidence and
affection, have they not? Can they, dare they expect to receive yours,
when such is the case? Is it not a clear proof your happiness is not to
be consulted in any marriage you may form? It is ridiculous to imagine
that your mother has penetrated, in some degree, your feelings for
Alphingham, though perhaps not to their extent; and not approving of it,
for no reason whatever, she desires you to shun his society. Your father
refuses a most honourable offer, without even consulting the person
principally concerned. Caroline, my dearest friend, do not permit your
noble spirit to be thus bowed down. Whatever alternative Lord Alphingham
may propose becomes lawful, when you are thus cruelly persecuted. Many
secret marriages are happier, very much happier, than those for which
the consent of parents have been obtained. They think only of ambition,
interest; how can we expect them to enter into the warmth of youthful
feelings? Do not be frightened at my words, but give them a calm, just
deliberation. You have permitted your love for him to be discovered; it
becomes your duty to prove it still more clearly."

Such were the principal contents of Annie's letter, more than sufficient
to confirm Caroline's already half-adopted resolution, and convince her
wavering judgment that obedience to her parents was now no longer a
duty; their unjust harshness had alienated her from them, and she must
stand forth and act alone. Conscience loudly called on her to desist;
that she was deserting the plain path, and entering the labyrinth of
deceit, but the words of Annie were before her. Again and again they
were read, till every word became engraved within her, and the spirit
they breathed thickened the film before her eyes, and deafened her ear
to every loudly-whispered reproach. Yet in silence and solitude that
still small voice, conscience, arose and left its pang, although on the
instant banished.

A few days passed, and the conduct of the Viscount to Caroline continued
the same as it had been the first night. Publicly distant, secretly and
silently beseeching, with an eloquence few co