generous to fight with one hors du combat, and a ride with all my heart," answered Caroline, "provided Mr. Westall is not fatigued by his accidental morning escort-excursion, I mean.'

Mr. Westall, with more gravity than gallantry, and in spite of his mother's entreating looks, said "that he must resign the privilege vouchsafed to him, to fulfil an engagement in the village"and on this pretext he left the party to pursue their design, while he gave the rein to his own meditations,

CHAPTER XIV.

"Who made the heart, 'tis he alone

Decidedly can try us;

He knows each chord-its various tone,

Each spring its various bias."

Burns.

We must now leave the party at Eton, which we hope that our readers will think has lost its chief interest since the departure of our heroine, and we shall exempt them from attending her in her wearisome progress, since it was diversified by no danger real or imaginary, to recall their attention to the sorrows of the simple amiable little fanatic Emily Allen.

She returned to her monastic seclusion with her aunt, or as she called her (ac

He had

cording to the fashion of " the Believers,' who acknowledge none but primitive titles and relations,) her elder sister," more from a habit of passive obedience, than from any distaste to the world. Our readers may recollect that at parting with James Lenox, she had received from him a slip of paper, and succeeded in hiding it in her bosom. written on it a strong expression of his love, and an entreaty that she would abandon her false religion. From the moment she placed it in her bosom, her heart fluttered and struggled as an imprisoned bird when her mate approaches her cage. She regarded it as a temptation, but had no strength, hardly a wish to resist it. All her solitary moments (they were rare and brief) were devoted to reading this note over and over again. She felt herself immured in a dungeon, and from this the only gleam of light she could not for a moment turn her thoughts.

The uniform habits and monotonous occupations of this singular community have a strong tendency to check every irregular feeling, and to intercept every vagrant desire. But in vain did Emily try their sedative influence. She was

one of the highest, and even there, where few distinctions obtain, most privileged order, called, par excellence, " the church.'

Susan's gifts had ad

vanced her to the lead, and Emily's graces were looked upon by the fraternity as the herald blossoms of like precious fruit. But since her return from her fatal visit to the "world's people," she had become an object of intense anxiety to Susan, and of solicitude or distrust to the rest of the society. Susan had no suspicion of the real cause of her discontent; she imputed it to the work. ings of her natural affections, the dying sparks of which, not quite extinguished by grace, had been rekindled by her late visit to her kindred.

Little did this stern enthusiast imagine, as she watched over her young disciple with maternal tenderness, how much there was of natural and original feeling in her own affection for her. She saw the bright colour, the beautiful signal of youth and health, fading day by day from her cheeks, till her face became almost as white as the snowy cap border that fringed it. She saw her take her accustomed place at the formal meal, but she noticed that her food was often untasted, and never relished. She observed her slow step and abstracted look, as she passed over the broad flagstones to the offices to perform her daily tasks, and. that though she went through them with fidelity, her trembling hands and frequent sighs evinced that her heart and strength were gone. She uniformly appeared with the sisters that thronged to the evening worship, and went forth with them to labour in the dance,' but her movements were heavy and mechanical;