rd on the terrace, or in the garden--if her
laugh--so light, merry, and musical, reached his ear--there was no
question or debate whether he should go or stay, but down the stairs, or
through the avenues of the garden--he sprung--he ran;--only a little
before he came in sight he would assume something of the gravity
becoming in a senior wrangler, or try to look as if he came there by
chance. His love was seen, and not with indifference. But what could the
damsel do? How presume to know of an attachment until in due form
certified thereof? If a youth will adhere to an obstinate silence, what,
we repeat, can a damsel do but leave him to his fate, and listen to some
other, who, if he loves less, at least knows how to avow his love?

CHAPTER II.

We left the two friends proceeding towards the mansion; we enter before
them, and introduce our readers into the drawing-room. Here, in a
spacious and shaded apartment, made cool, as well by the massive walls
of the noble edifice as by the open and protected windows, whose broad
balcony was blooming with the most beautiful and fragrant of plants, sat
Emily Sherwood. She was not, however, alone. At the same round table,
which was covered with vases of flowers, and with books as gay as
flowers, was seated another young lady, Miss Julia Danvers, a friend who
had arrived in the course of the morning on a visit to Lipscombe Park.
The young ladies seemed to have been in deep consultation.

"I can never thank you sufficiently," said Miss Danvers, "for your
kindness in this affair."

"Indeed but you can very soon thank me much more than sufficiently,"
replied her more lively companion, "for there are few things in the
world I dislike so much as thanks. And yet there is one cause of
thankfulness you have, and know not of. Here have I listened to your
troubles, as you call them, for more than two hours, and never once told
you any of my own. Troubles! you are, in my estimation, a very happy,
enviable girl."

"Do you think it then so great a happiness to be obliged to take refuge
from an absurd selfish stepmother, in order to get by stealth one's own
lawful way?"

"One's own way is always lawful, my dear. No tautology. But you _have_
it--while I"----

"Well, what is the matter?"

"Julia, dear--now do not laugh--I have a lover that _won't speak_. I
have another, or one who calls himself such, who has spoken, or whose
wealth, I fear, has spoken, to some purpose--to my father."