to control myself, I laughed almost hysterically. But John Hervey stood by me quite grave and silent. my was "No "Richard Bennett, I thought he was a labourer! my exclamation, as soon as I could recover breath. wonder I was puzzled. But, Mr. Hervey, what has all the mystery been? Farmer Kemp, and Mary, and Mrs. Kemp, have all misled me. What have you had to do with the matter?" Merely," ," he replied, in the same grave tone, “that there was a difficulty, as usual, about money matters. Richard Bennett is a clerk in a counting-house, with a very good prospect of rising; but his salary was not sufficient, so the Farmer thought, to insure Mary's having a comfortable home, and I managed to have it increased. Mary is indebted to me for this, and nothing more. I can't think how you could have made such a mistake, Ursie," he added, a little bitterly, แ you always spoke as if you understood, and it must have struck you as strange that I never talked about Mary." "We have scarcely seen each other lately, if you remember," I said; "and I am afraid I was too much engrossed in my own affairs to think much about it. It was very selfish of me," I added, for my heart reproached me; "but, indeed, Mr. Hervey, setting aside Mrs. Weir, there are other cares which may be my excuse. And then I had never heard of Mr. Bennett. He is like a man from another world." "He saw Mary six months ago," replied John, "and said nothing, because he had nothing to offer. But Mary, as it seems, lost her heart to him, and when he did propose, the thing was soon settled." "And you have not been in love with Mary all your life, then?" I asked. He looked at me with an expression so wondering, earnest, and anxious, it seemed to thrill through me. "Oh Ursie!" he said, "have you thought it possible?" He paused, Mrs. Weir's bell rang, and I rushed out of the room. John Hervey loved me! I suppose there is no woman to whom such a consciousness comes for the first time, without some feeling of pleasurable excitement; but the next moment, in my case, brought a pang of deep and most painful regret. The feeling was not returned. Yet my heart beat quickly, my head was dizzy with emotion; and, as I entered Mrs. Weir's chamber, I could scarcely summon sufficient. presence of mind to answer Miss Milicent's hasty question, whether Mr. Hervey had brought any tidings of her father. "I think, if you please, you had better go and ask,—he will tell you everything, and I can wait here," I said; and I hurriedly took my place at the bedside, and motioned to Miss Milicent that I was willing to remain. She left me, and I was alone, able to think. Yes, he did love me; I saw it clearly as though written before me. I traced the feeling through the course of years. I felt that it had been constant and increasing. I knew that there were times, when, unconsciously to myself, I might even have given it encouragement. And I was excited, flattered, grateful, but I had nothing except gratitude to offer in return. John Hervey had not been the idol of my imagination, I had bestowed but few thoughts upon him. His presence or absence gave me nothing but a passing pleasure or pain. It seemed cold and cruel. thought I had deluded him, I pictured to myself his disappointment, and longed-no one can tell how earnestly-to comfort him. Just for an instant, it even crossed my mind whether we might not be happy together, for as a friend I could have rested upon him, and found pleasure and support in his society. My dread of giving him pain was so great, that I could have made any personal sacrifice to avoid it. And life with John Hervey as a companion, would never be unhappy. But there was something required beyond this, and the very effort I made to think of him as my husband proved that it could never be my duty to accept him. I And then I smiled scornfully at myself as I remembered that I was thinking of rejection before the offer had been received. It was unmaidenly and unwomanly. But no, it was not so. I was but facing that which I believed to be a truth, and which, if I returned to say good-bye, would, I felt assured, be expressed. One moment, if I had remained, and I should have heard the full outpouring of his feelings, and have been called upon to accept or reject him. I have heard that there are some women who look upon such events as triumphs, and who, in the gratification of their to control myself, I laughed almost hysterically. But John Hervey stood by me quite grave and silent. σε Νο "Richard Bennett, I thought he was a labourer!" was my exclamation, as soon as I could recover my breath. wonder I was puzzled. But, Mr. Hervey, what has all the mystery been? Farmer Kemp, and Mary, and Mrs. Kemp, have all misled me. What have you had to do with the matter?" "that Rich "Merely," he replied, in the same grave tone, there was a difficulty, as usual, about money matters. ard Bennett is a clerk in a counting-house, with a very good prospect of rising; but his salary was not sufficient, so the Farmer thought, to insure Mary's having a comfortable home, and I managed to have it increased. Mary is indebted to me for this, and nothing more. I can't think how you could have made such a mistake, Ursie," he added, a little bitterly, แ you always spoke as if you understood, and it must have struck you as strange that I never talked about Mary." "We have scarcely seen each other lately, if you remember," I said; " and I am afraid I was too much engrossed in my own affairs to think much about it. It was very selfish of me," I added, for my heart reproached me; "but, indeed, Mr. Hervey, setting aside Mrs. Weir, there are other cares which may be my excuse. And then I had never heard of Mr. Bennett. He is like a man from another world." "He saw Mary six months ago," replied John, "and said nothing, because he had nothing to offer. But Mary, as it seems, lost her heart to him, and when he did propose, the thing was soon settled." And you have not been in love with Mary all your life, then?" I asked. He looked at me with an expression so wondering, earnest, and anxious, it seemed to thrill through me. "Oh Ursie!" he said, "have you thought it possible?" He paused, Mrs. Weir's bell rang, and I rushed out of the room. John Hervey loved me! I suppose there is no woman to whom such a consciousness comes for the first time, without some feeling of pleasurable excitement; but the next moment, in my case, brought a pang of deep and most painful regret. The feeling was not returned. Yet my heart beat quickly, my head was dizzy with emotion; and, as I entered Mrs. Weir's chamber, I could scarcely summon sufficient. presence of mind to answer Miss Milicent's hasty question, whether Mr. Hervey had brought any tidings of her father. "I think, if you please, you had better go and ask,—he will tell you everything, and I can wait here," I said; and I hurriedly took my place at the bedside, and motioned to Miss Milicent that I was willing to remain. She left me, and I was alone, able to think. Yes, he did love me; I saw it clearly as though written before me. I traced the feeling through the course of years. I felt that it had been constant I and increasing. I knew that there were times, when, unconsciously to myself, I might even have given it encouragement. And I was excited, flattered, grateful, but I had nothing except gratitude to offer in return. John Hervey had not been the idol of my imagination, I had bestowed but few thoughts upon him. His presence or absence gave me nothing but a passing pleasure or pain. It seemed cold and cruel. thought I had deluded him, I pictured to myself his disappointment, and longed-no one can tell how earnestly-to comfort him. Just for an instant, it even crossed my mind whether we might not be happy together, for as a friend I could have rested upon him, and found pleasure and support in his society. My dread of giving him pain was so great, that I could have made any personal sacrifice to avoid it. And life with John Hervey as a companion, would never be unhappy. But there was something required beyond this, and the very effort I made to think of him as my husband proved that it could never be my duty to accept him. And then I smiled scornfully at myself as I remembered that I was thinking of rejection before the offer had been received. It was unmaidenly and unwomanly. But no, it was not so. I was but facing that which I believed to be a truth, and which, if I returned to say good-bye, would, I felt assured, be expressed. One moment, if I had remained, and I should have heard the full outpouring of his feelings, and have been called upon to accept or reject him. I have heard that there are some women who look upon such events as triumphs, and who, in the gratification of their vanity, forget the pain they are inflicting, and rejoice in the opportunity, for once afforded them, of placing themselves in a position superior to men. God knows, I say it in all sincerity, I am in no wise freer from vanity, or more thoughtful or tender-hearted than the generality of my sex; and yet this feeling of triumph is one into which I could never enter. A man's grief is so very terrible to witness, and surely there is nothing but exceeding pain, in seeing those to whom nature bids one look up, humbled, under any circumstances, whether of pain of body or anguish of mind. It is a false position, and as such it can never be a rightful cause for triumph. But be this as it may, I had received from Mrs. Weir, years before, a counsel which now came to my aid, and which would alone have been sufficient to guide me as to to the course I was to pursue. "Remember, Ursie," she once said to me, when talking of the possible difficulties of my future life," if it should ever happen that you perceive the affection of a worthy man before he has declared it, and find yourself so circumstanced that you cannot accept him, save him, if possible, the pain of being rejected, by never giving him occasion to make the offer. It may be less flattering to yourself, but it is more generous to him." I had but little time for thought now. I expected Miss Milicent every instant to return, but my resolution, though made hastily, was not, I hope, therefore, unwise. I would not see John Hervey again, and I took up a piece of paper, and wrote instead. "MY DEAR MR. HERVEY, Please "I am so very tired, having been up all night, that I really think I must go and lie down, and not wait till you and Miss Milicent have finished your conversation. not to think it unkind. I hope you will have a pleasant journey. Give them all my best love at home. to be there before long. "Yours very sincerely, I do trust "URSULA GRANT." It was painfully cold, almost ungracious, after the interest he had taken in me, but I felt as though the very cold |