cupying this apartment, laid us under the necessity
of submitting to your mercy."

Thus ended Sir Fredericks story, whose tale sounded to me like one told
in a vision; and I could hardly bring myself to believe that I saw his
daughter's form once more before me in flesh and blood, though with
diminished beauty and sunk spirits. The buoyant vivacity with which she
had resisted every touch of adversity, had now assumed the air of
composed and submissive, but dauntless resolution and constancy. Her
father, though aware and jealous of the effect of her praises on my mind,
could not forbear expatiating upon them.

"She has endured trials," he said, "which might have dignified the
history of a martyr;--she has faced danger and death in various
shapes;--she has undergone toil and privation, from which men of the
strongest frame would have shrunk;--she has spent the day in darkness,
and the night in vigil, and has never breathed a murmur of weakness or
complaint. In a word, Mr. Osbaldistone," he concluded, "she is a worthy
offering to that God, to whom" (crossing himself) "I shall dedicate her,
as all that is left dear or precious to Frederick Vernon."

There was a silence after these words, of which I well understood the
mournful import. The father of Diana was still as anxious to destroy my
hopes of being united to her now as he had shown himself during our brief
meeting in Scotland.

"We will now," said he to his daughter, "intrude no farther on Mr.
Osbaldistone's time, since we have acquainted him with the circumstances
of the miserable guests who claim his protection."

I requested them to stay, and offered myself to leave the apartment. Sir
Frederick observed, that my doing so could not but excite my attendant's
suspicion; and that the place of their retreat was in every respect
commodious, and furnished by Syddall with all they could possibly want.
"We might perhaps have even contrived to remain there, concealed from
your observation; but it would have been unjust to decline the most
absolute reliance on your honour."

"You have done me but justice," I replied.--"To you, Sir Frederick, I am
but little known; but Miss Vernon, I am sure, will bear me witness that"--

"I do not want my daughter's evidence," he said, politely, but yet with
an air calculated to prevent my addressing myself to Diana, "since I am
prepared to believe all that is worthy of Mr. Francis Osbaldistone.
Permit us now to retire; we must take rep