love even that; but his wicked and artful insinuations respecting Ambrose, which I cannot yet but believe to be the cause of your unhappiness. Come, my dear father, what makes you so reserved with me? I am all openness with you. You used to be so with me, and then you were happy-we were both happy. Is not Romsdale Ambrose's deadly enemy? Why conceal anything from me? Am I not your daughter? Do I not inherit your kind disposition? Am I not like my dear mother?" "Alison, Alison! what do you mean by all these tender appeals to my feelings?" "Only, papa, to remove the cause of your late indisposition, and increase your comforts." "To be candid with you then, my girl, I am afraid Mr. Romsdale is not exactly what I should call a friend to poor Ambrose." "I know it, and I can give you a reason or two that may tend to throw some light on the subject." "Well, you astonish me! Let me hear what you have to communicate." "Ah! there now, you won't be angry, will you? You thought I did not know what ailed you, did you ? Never think me so short-sighted again, papa! Well, the other day, you know, I went to C "Well!" "While there, I called at the post-office and asked the post-master, shewing him Ambrose's handwriting, whether any letters, addressed in that hand, passed through the office. He called his daughter, and his wife, and the lettercarrier that used to help them to assort the letters, showed them the handwriting of Ambrose, asked them whether any letters in that handwriting had passed through their office. They three, all at once, said, 'that they had often seen letters addressed in that hand to several people, and as they were, generally, addressed, "care of Mr. Romsdale," they were invariably put into Mr. Williams's letter-bag.'" The old man looked quite stupified, fixed his eyes on the ground, and remained silent for several minutes. Then turning to his daughter, said: "Why did you not tell this before, my dear, it would have saved me a world of trouble?" "It was only the other day, papa, that I was at C-" True, true! you are quite right, love.” "I have another secret to communicate to you respecting this great hypocrite, that my honour has been assailed by him; the impurity of his language I dare not repeat." What, what!-what do you mean, Alison ?" "I mean, papa, that this villain has attempted, in more ways than one, to corrupt your daughter's morals." "Vile hypocrite!” cried the old man, “and is he the man to traduce poor Ambrose's character? Fool that I was to listen to him! Let him dare show his sinister face to me again! Would he were here! He would feel the weight of these arms, aged as they are-the consummate villain!" "Come, come, papa! that is scarcely worthy of your grey hairs." "Alison, did Ambrose ever say anything to you of an improper character? Come, deal faithfully with your poor old father, dearest." "Ambrose say anything improper! Why, you know, father, that he is purity itself. Never did he utter a word to me that angels might not have caught, echoed and re-echoed through the pure regions of the celestial country; from his lips nothing but gracious words dropped, such as seraphs might use while speaking to each other." "And yet," exclaimed Mr. Acehambur, with energy, "this hateful Romsdale durst tell me things respecting Mr. Maclandreth that would shock humanity to hear. And to me, Ambrose's bosom friend. Oh! how I loathe myself for having listened to him-for having proved unfaithful to that innocent and excellent young man." "How well I divined the source of your misery. Would to God I had spoken sooner to you, for it would have saved you many painful reflections! Nothing, I think, tends more to brighten the retrospect of life, than the consciousness that we have proevd faithful to our friends, however misunderstood we may have been by them." "Thou art your father's daughter, my noble girl. Never did I before even tolerate for a moment, the traducer of a friend, and I hope soon to show you that this apparent false step has been retrieved." CHAPTER XV. "When we see the first glory of youth pass us by, Like a leaf on the stream that will never return; MOORE. MR. MACLANDRETH having discharged the last duty that gratitude and love could fulfil, relative to his departed parent; he hastened to return home to Fair-View, to console his friends there, and be consoled by them in return. He knew that their joy would be mutual. This assurance filled his heart with hope, and his mind became fraught with the delicious pleasures of anticipated happiness. How often it occurs in the life of the most favoured children of Providence, that joy proves itself the harbinger of sorrow. It is well, however, that God conceals from us the approaching calamity, in order to give us the full benefit of the enjoy |