uld read no more. It
was well for the steadiness of his determination that it was so, for the
wretchedness imprinted on every feature, every line of her countenance,
at his concluding sentence, would have wrung his soul.

Though persuaded by her parents to retire early, Emmeline did not do so
till the usual hour of separation after prayers. To Ellen's
silently-observing eye she appeared to shrink from being alone, and this
thought haunted her so incessantly, that, instead of composing herself
to rest, she softly traversed the short distance which separated their
apartments, and entered her cousin's room.

Emmeline was alone, undressed, a large wrapping robe flung carelessly
over her night attire, but instead of reading, which at that hour, and
in that guise, she generally did, that the word of God might be the last
book on which she looked ere she sought her rest, she was leaning
abstractedly over the fire, seated on a low stool, her hands pressed on
her temples, while the flickering flame cast a red and unnatural glare
on those pale cheeks. Ellen advanced, but her cousin moved not at her
entrance, nor even when she knelt by her side, and twined her arms
around her.

"Will you not go to bed, dearest Emmeline? it is so late, and you have
been so fearfully agitated to-day. Look up and speak to me, my own dear
cousin, or I shall fancy you are hurt with me for permitting so many
hours to pass without coming near you, when I knew you were in
suffering. Oh, you know not how I longed to come, but my aunt said you
had entreated to be left alone. I stood for some minutes by your door,
but all was so still, I thought I should disturb you did I enter. You do
not accuse me of unkindness, Emmeline?"

Housed by her cousin's affectionate words and imploring voice, Emmeline
resisted not her embrace, but clung to her in silence.

"You are ill, you are very ill, dearest, dearest Emmeline; do not sit up
thus; for my sake, for your mother's sake, try if sleep will not ease
this aching head," exclaimed Ellen, much alarmed at the burning heat and
quick throbbing of Emmeline's forehead, as it rested on her shoulder.

"I cannot sleep, Ellen, it is useless to attempt it; I feel as if my
eyes would never close again; as if years had passed over my head since
last night. I thought I could not be more miserable than I was
when--when we parted, and as I have been since; but that was
nothing--nothing to this. I thought I had not indulged in ho