ve come back to
her cheeks, her previous dejection has vanished under the kind and
salutary ministrations of her friend, and she has no reasonable excuse
for remaining longer; besides, her friends have become impatient at her
stay,--the light and life of their dwelling,--how can they consent to
her tarrying longer; so the long and interesting conversations on high
and holy themes, which she had scarcely ever before heard alluded to but
in church, must be relinquished, and the quiet scenes of Nature
exchanged for the bustle and show of city life.

CHAPTER III.

A twelvemonth has elapsed, since the events recorded in our first
chapter. In the drawing-room of a spacious mansion, in the suburbs of
the city where Agnes Wiltshire resided, is seated a young man,
apparently perusing a volume which he holds in his hand, but, in
reality, listening to a gay group of young girls, who are chattering
merrily with his sister at the other end of the apartment. Scarcely
heedful of his presence, for he is partly concealed by the thick folds
of a rich damask curtain,--or, perhaps, careless of the impression
produced, they rattled gaily on, for not one of them but in her heart
had pronounced him a woman-hater; for were he not such, could he have
been insensible to the sweetest and most fascinating smiles of beauty?

But the last sound of their retreating footsteps, the echo of their
merry laugh, has died away, and Arthur Bernard emerges from his retreat,
in the enclosure of the window.

"I declare, Arthur, it is positively too bad," exclaimed Ella, his
sister, a gay and pretty young girl; "you are certainly the most
agreeable company in the world. Not a syllable to say beyond 'yes,' or
'no,' 'good morning,' or 'good evening.' I am really ashamed of you. You
are a woman-hater, I really believe. I am sure the girls all set you
down as such."

"I am much obliged for their good opinion, and shall endeavor to deserve
it," was the smiling reply. "But, can you imagine what I have been
thinking about, while you and your merry companions have been talking
all sorts of nonsense?"

"No, indeed. I should like to hear your wise meditations, most grave and
potent seigneur. Doubtless, they will prove very edifying, as the theme,
of course, was woman's foibles."

"I have been thinking rather of what woman might be, than of what she
is. What an exalted part she might perform in the regeneration of the
world, did she but fulfil her mission.