intense it
is, set upon love; think, my friend, do not forget his love for you."

Sir Austin smiled an admirable smile of pity.

"That I should save him, or any one, from consequences, is asking more
than the order of things will allow to you, Emmeline, and is not in the
disposition of this world. I cannot. Consequences are the natural
offspring of acts. My child, you are talking sentiment, which is the
distraction of our modern age in everything--a phantasmal vapour
distorting the image of the life we live. You ask me to give him a golden
age in spite of himself. All that could be done, by keeping him in the
paths of virtue and truth, I did. He is become a man, and as a man he
must reap his own sowing."

The baffled lady sighed. He sat so rigid: he spoke so securely, as if
wisdom were to him more than the love of his son. And yet he did love his
son. Feeling sure that he loved his son while he spoke so loftily, she
reverenced him still, baffled as she was, and sensible that she had been
quibbled with.

"All I ask of you is to open your heart to him," she said.

He kept silent.

"Call him a man,--he is, and must ever be the child of your education, my
friend."

"You would console me, Emmeline, with the prospect that, if he ruins
himself, he spares the world of young women. Yes, that is something!"

Closely she scanned the mask. It was impenetrable. He could meet her
eyes, and respond to the pressure of her hand, and smile, and not show
what he felt. Nor did he deem it hypocritical to seek to maintain his
elevation in her soft soul, by simulating supreme philosophy over
offended love. Nor did he know that he had an angel with him then: a
blind angel, and a weak one, but one who struck upon his chance.

"Am I pardoned for coming to you?" she said, after a pause.

"Surely I can read my Emmeline's intentions," he gently replied.

"Very poor ones. I feel my weakness. I cannot utter half I have been
thinking. Oh, if I could!"

"You speak very well, Emmeline."

"At least, I am pardoned!"

"Surely so."

"And before I leave you, dear friend, shall I be forgiven?--may I beg
it?--will you bless him?"

He was again silent.

"Pray for him, Austin! pray for him ere the night is over."

As she spoke she slid down to his feet and pressed his hand to her bosom.

The baronet was startled. In very dread of the soft fit that wooed him,
he pushed back his chair, and rose, and went to the window.

"It's day already