"But little, and that little does not inspire me with confidence. She married, when very young, a man much older than herself, whose wealth was thought by others to be his chief attraction. Going abroad immediately on her, widowhood, she spent five years in France and Italy, and only returned a month ago to America, in consequence of a lawsuit which involved a large part of the fortune left her by Mr. Mabury. You smile, and I acknowledge that these are not very serious causes of dissatisfaction with her as a chaperone for Evelyn; but against the companion she has brought back with her, and in whose society she passed, I am told, much of her time abroad, I have graver and more decided objections."

"Of whom do you speak?"

"Of this Euston Hastings. He, they say, went abroad at twenty, in consequence of some disappointment of the heart. If it were so, it is well to preserve the remembrance as a proof that he once had a heart, for I greatly doubt if there is such a thing in his organism now. He is the most cold, hard, derisive being I have ever met.”

'Evelyn's association with him will certainly not inflict on you the pangs of jealousy; for you cannot anticipate danger to her affections from the attractions of such a man."

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'I have described Euston Hastings to you as he has impressed me; but there are those who will tell you that there is about him a singular and irresistible charm. I have never seen him smile except to sneer, and have scarcely heard him speak except to ridicule; but I have heard others say that his smile was beautiful, and that when he was in the vein for it, his conversation was inexpressibly fascinating. He has spent fifteen years abroad. I wish he had stayed there one year longer."

"Is he not engaged to Mrs. Mabury, think you?"

"It is generally so believed, because they returned together, and he is always seen at her side; but if so, why are they not married? They are both free, both independent in fortune. But I am unjust to myself in suffering you to believe that I object to Evelyn's association with Euston Hastings from a lover's jealousy. I should in reality dislike it almost as much were he the husband of Mrs. Mabury; for, if I have not been misinformed, he is a scoffer at all things pure and holy."

"Have you told Mr. Beresford this?”

"I have; but Mr. Beresford at fifty knows no more of the world than a child. He has lived in his books alone. He replied to my information, that he seldom believed hearsay reports against any one, and that if this were true, he was assured that a libertine and an infidel could acquire no influence over his pure-hearted and religious Evelyn. When I would have urged him farther, he silenced me by his raillery, declaring that I must be jealous as a Turk if I was unwilling to see Evelyn associate with a man almost twice her age, grave and silent as a priest, and ugly enough to be any thing."

"Mr. Beresford is right," said Mary, after a few moments of silence; "Evelyn is both pure-hearted and religious-"

"She is, indeed," interrupted Everard, "or I should not love her as I do; but, Mary, Evelyn is wholly a creature of the affections. Her impulses are pure, her heart is full of worship, but she is as wax in the hands of those she loves their approbation and affection is the aim of her being; and she submits to their wishes, and receives their opinions without a question."

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'Then, Everard, since she loves you, you should feel secure."

"But may not new attachments displace her present ones ?"

Mary shook her head, but before she could reply in words, there was a slight tap at the door, and Evelyn entered, habited for her ride. Advancing to the couch, she kissed Mary's cheek, and said, "Dear Mary, you are the only one I grieve to leave behind me; but it is only for a fortnight, and I will see you very often, every day if I can."

"Thank you, Evelyn, you are very kind; but you must not let me interfere with pleasanter engagements."

"Do not call them pleasanter: there are none pleasanter than being with you."

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Gayer, then," said Mary, with a faint smile.

"Your

father and my good nurse," she added, "will, you know, take all possible care of me; so be as happy as you can, and I will have pleasure in thinking of yours."

"You will not blame me, then, as some other people have done, for being happy;" and Evelyn glanced at Everard Irving with the pretty pout of a vexed child, though, as she met his eye, a blush rose to her cheek, betokening more womanly emotion.

"Nay, nay, Evelyn," said Everard, as he caught her hand, and spite of her slight resistance, raised it to his lips; "that is only half the truth; and every lawyer will tell you that no witness is so unjust as he who speaks but half the truth."

"You will keep Mrs. Mabury waiting, Evelyn," said Mary, hurriedly.

“Good-by, then, dear, dear Mary. Take care of yourself, if you would have me enjoy my visit; for if I hear you are ill, I shall come directly back.

Evelyn twined her arms around Mary's neck, and kissed her again and again, then held her hand to Everard.

"We do not part here, Evelyn. I shall ride with you." "With Mrs. Mabury's permission; so come and make

your court to her," said Evelyn, as she tripped lightly away.

"Already, you see-Mrs. Mabury's permission!" repeated Everard bitterly. Then taking a hasty leave of the invalid, he followed Evelyn from the room. As the door closed upon him, Mary clasped her hands over her eyes, and lay for several minutes quite still. Tears began to steal from beneath those almost transparent fingers; but suddenly her sad thoughts were interrupted by gay laughter and the clattering of horses' hoofs. Springing from her pillow, she threw up the sash beside her, and looked out. Her room was in the rear of the house, yet from this window the road was visible for a few yards, as it made a sudden detour beyond the gate, and there she saw the gay party of riders as they swept rapidly by on their way to the city. The breeze again wafted back to her the sounds of careless glee; and as one well-known voice rang on her ear, she hastily drew down the sash, and exclaimed wildly, "Father!-mother! would that I too were laid in peace beside you!"

Alas! for the young heart which feels itself alone on earth, yet has not learned to rise above the earth! which looks to impassive death and the dark grave for the peace that can come only from life-ever-active, beneficent lifeand the light-giving heavens!

2*

CHAPTER II.

"Oh how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another's oves!" AS YOU LIKE IT.

MR. BERESFORD had married after thirty a young and beautiful girl, whom he loved truly and tenderly. Truly and tenderly was he loved in return; yet when, shortly after the birth of Evelyn, Mr. Beresford bent over the dying bed of his wife, he felt, with a bitterness which only such circumstances can impart, that to her the brief period of their married life had not been all brightness. His nature was still and serene, his emotions deep but not vehement. She was ardent and impassioned, loving with her whole being, and requiring to be so loved in return. She never doubted her husband's truth, never feared that any other could come into competition with her in his heart, yet she had an object of painful jealousy. Mr. Beresford was a student, and she was jealous of the books which absorbed so much of his time, and which, till he saw her, had satisfied all his desires for companionship. She felt that there were thoughts which he never expressed to her-emotions with which he claimed not her sympathy, and these the thoughts and emotions which he considered the highest and noblest portion of his being. Had she lived longer, it is possible that she might have gained courage to express all her feelings on this subject, and that Mr. Beresford would have learned from actual life what his books had never taught him—that woman was not intended solely as an embellishment to the life of man; that, however they may have been neglected