of her conduct which must be the more
unpleasant, because the more just. She had fancied she would have time
to give what gloss she chose to her conduct in Emily's eyes, and to
prevent dangerous explanations between the father and the daughter.
Moreover, the suddenness of the call alarmed her and raised doubts.
Whereever there is something to be concealed there is something to be
feared, and Mrs. Hazleton asked herself if Emily had found means to
communicate to Sir Philip Hastings what had occurred with John Ayliffe.

That, however, she soon concluded was impossible. Some knowledge of the
facts, nevertheless, might have reached him from other sources, and Mrs.
Hazleton grew uneasy. Sir Philip's letter to his daughter, which Emily
at once suffered her hostess to see, threw no light upon the subject. It
was brief, unexplicit, and though perfectly kind and tender, peremptory.
It merely required her to return to the Hall, as some business rendered
her presence at home necessary.

Little did Mrs. Hazleton divine the business to which Sir Philip
alluded. Had she known it, what might have happened who can say? There
were terribly strong passions within that fair bosom, and there were
moments when those strong passions mastered even strong worldly sense
and habitual self-control.

There was not much time, however, for even thought, and less for
preparation. Emily departed, after having received a few words of
affectionate caution from Mrs. Hazleton, delicately and skilfully put,
in such a manner as to produce the impression that she was speaking of
subjects personally indifferent to herself--except in so much as her
young friend's own happiness was concerned.

Shall we say the truth? Emily attended but little. Her thoughts were
full of her father's letter, and of the joy of returning to a home where
days passed peacefully in an even quiet course, very different from that
in which the stream of time had flowed at Mrs. Hazleton's. The love of
strong emotions--the brandy-drinking of the mind--is an acquired taste.
Few, very few have it from nature. Poor Emily, she little knew how many
strong emotions were preparing for her.

Gladly she saw the carriage roll onward through scenes more and more
familiar at every step. Gladly she saw the forked gates appear, and
marked the old well-known hawthorns as they flitted by her; and the look
of joy with which she sprang into her father's arms, might have
convinced any heart that there w