constrained
to give him my best counsels, my fervent prayers."

"Thank you, dear Madam, a thousand times," he answered his countenance
lighted up with grateful pleasure; "you do not know what inspiration
there is in the conviction that we are cared for by the pure and the
good. Selfish as we are, there are few of us who strive to excel for
ourselves alone. We must feel that there are some hearts, who bear us in
remembrance, who will exult in our successes, and be made happier by our
virtues."

He forgot himself, and though he addressed Mrs. Linwood, his eye sought
mine, while uttering the closing words. I was foolish enough to blush at
his glance, and still more at the placid, intelligent smile of Mrs.
Linwood. It seemed to say,

"I understand it all; it is all right, just as it should be. There is no
danger of Richard's being forgotten."

I was provoked by _her_ smile, _his_ glance, and my own foolish blush.
As for him, he really did seem inspired. He talked of the profession he
had chosen as the noblest and the best, a profession which had commanded
the most exalted talents and most magnificent geniuses in the world. He
was not holy enough for the ministry; he had too great reverence and
regard for human life to be a physician; but he believed nature had
created him for a lawyer, for that much abused, yet glorious being, an
honest lawyer.

I suppose I must have been nervous, in consequence of the exciting
scenes through which I had passed, but there was something in his florid
eloquence, animated gestures, and evident desire to make a grand
impression, that strangely affected my risibles; I had always thought
him so natural before. I tried to keep from laughing; I compressed my
lips, and turning my head, looked steadily from the window, but a sudden
stammering, then a pause, showed that my unconquerable rudeness was
observed. I was sobered at once, but dared not look round, lest I should
meet Mrs. Linwood's reproving glance. He soon after asked Edith for a
parting song, and while listening to her sweet voice, as it mingled with
the breezy strains of the harp, my excited spirit recovered its
equilibrium. I thought with regret and pain, of the levity, so unwonted
in me, which had wounded a heart so frank and true, and found as much
difficulty in keeping back my tears, as a moment before I had done my
laughter.

As soon as Edith had finished her song, he rose to take leave. He came
to me last, to the little reces