omfort since her mother's death. There was little
change visible in Ellen. Her health was established, her pensive beauty
unimpaired. Still was she the meek, unassuming, gentle girl she had long
been; still to the eye of strangers somewhat cold and indifferent. Her
inward self was becoming every year more strengthened; she was resolved
to use every effort to _suffer_, without the slightest portion of
bitterness impregnating her sentiments towards her fellow-creatures, or
the world in general. Her lot she _knew_ was to _bear_; her duty she
_felt_ was to _conceal_.

Ellen, on her return home, gave her cousin the letter which Emmeline had
mentioned as having forwarded to her that morning. It was fraught with
interest, and the anxious eye of Mrs. Hamilton moved not from her
daughter's countenance as she read. Still was it so calm that even she
was puzzled; and again the thought, "Is it for him" she is thus
drooping, fading like a flower before me? is it, indeed, the struggle
between love and duty which has made her thus? crossed her mind, as it
had often, very often done before, and brought with it renewed
perplexity.

Lady Florence had written in the highest spirits, announcing the return
of her father, Lord Louis, and his tutor; that her brother was looking
quite well and strong, and was the same dear, merry, mischievous boy as
ever; delighted to be in England, abusing all the Germans, and
professing and displaying the most extreme fondness for Mr. Myrvin.

"He speaks of Mr. Myrvin in terms that bring tears to my eyes, tears of
which, my dear Ellen, I am not at all ashamed. The only drawback to the
life of a soldier, which my brother has now positively resolved on, in
spite of all our persuasions, exists, he says, in the consequent
separation from Mr. Myrvin, and he almost wishes to go to Cambridge, to
chain him to his side; but for Mr. Myrvin's sake, I am glad this will
not be. He is looking ill, very ill, quite different to the Arthur
Myrvin we knew at Oakwood; a change has come over him which I cannot
describe, and even to myself can scarcely define. He is much more
polished in his manner, but it is tinged with such deep melancholy, or
intense thought, I really do not know which it is, that he appears many
years older than when he left England. My father has at length prevailed
on him to resign all idea of again seeking the arduous charge of tutor,
but, with that honest pride which I so much admire and esteem, he has