o
the expected _fete_. The heavy eyes and pale cheeks of the misguided
girl were more than sufficient excuse; she even seconded Caroline in
refusing the kind offer of Lady Annie and Lady Lucy Melville to remain
with her. She said she preferred being quite alone, as she was no
companion for any one, and it appeared as if not even that obstacle
would arise to prevent her flight.

The hours wore on; the noble guests could speak of nothing but the
anticipated _fete_ and its attendant pleasures, while they whiled away
the intervening hours in the library, the music-room, the garden,
wherever their taste dictated, for freedom was ever the password of
Airslie; but Caroline joined them not. It was the second day that she
had not seen the Viscount; for, fearing to attract notice, he had never
made his visits unusually frequent, and well versed in intrigue, he had
carried on his intercourse with Caroline in impenetrable secrecy. More
than once in those lonely hours did she feel as if her brain reeled, and
become confused, for she could not banish thought. She had that morning
received letters from home, and in her present mood each line breathed
affection, which her now awakened conscience told her was undeserved.
Nature and reason had resumed their sway, as if to add their tortures to
the anguish of those hours. The misery which had been her portion, since
her acceptance of Lord Alphingham, had slowly but surely drawn the
blinding film from her eyes. The light of reason had broke upon them
with a lustre that would no more be darkened. At the same moment that
she knew she did not love Lord Alphingham, her conduct to her parents,
to St. Eval, appeared in their true colours. Yes! this was no fancy, she
had been the victim of infatuation, of excitement; but clearer and
clearer dawned the truth. She was sacrificing herself to one whom she
did not love, whom she had never loved, with whom her life would be a
dreary waste; and for this was she about to break the ties of nature,
fly from her parents, perhaps draw down upon her head their curse, or,
what she now felt would be worse, much worse, wring that mother's heart
with anguish, whose conduct, now that reason had resumed her throne, she
was convinced had been ever guided by the dictates of affection. She
recalled with vivid clearness her every interview with Annie, and she
saw with bitter self-reproach her own blindness and folly, in thus
sacrificing her own judgment to false reason