attempt, but Mrs. Hazleton had her plan;
and she sat down and wrote for Mr. Shanks, the attorney.

CHAPTER XV.

Decorum came in with the house of Hanover. I know not whether men and
women in England were more virtuous before--I think not--but they
certainly were more frank in both their virtues and their vices. There
were fewer of those vices of conventionality thrown around the human
heart--fewer I mean to say of those cold restraints, those gilded chains
of society, which, like the ornaments that ladies wear upon their necks
and arms, seem like fetters; but, I fear me, restrain but little human
action, curb not passion, and are to the strong will but as the green
rushes round the limbs of the Hebrew giant. Decorum came into England
with the house of Hanover; but I am speaking of a period before that,
when ladies were less fearful of the tongue of scandal, when scandal
itself was fearful of assailing virtue, when honesty of purpose and
purity of heart could walk free in the broad day, and men did not
venture to suppose evil acts perpetrated whenever, by a possibility,
they could be committed.

Emily Hastings walked quietly along by the side of Mr. Marlow, through
her father's park. There was no one with him, no keen matron's ear to
listen to and weigh their words, no brother to pretend to accompany
them, and either feel himself weary with the task or lighten it by
seeking his own amusement apart. They were alone together, and they
talked without restraint. Ye gods, how they did talk! The dear girl was
in one of her brightest, gayest moods. There was nothing that did not
move her fancy or become a servant to it. The clouds as they shot across
the sky, the blue fixed hills in the distance, the red and yellow and
green coloring of the young budding oaks, the dancing of The stream, the
song of the bird, the whisper of the wind, the misty spring light which
spread over the morning distance, all had illustrations for her
thoughts. It seemed that day as if she could not speak without a
figure--as if she revelled in the flowers of imagination, like a child
tossing about the new mown grass in a hay-field. And he, with joyous
sport, took pleasure in furnishing her at every moment with new material
for the bounding play of fancy.

They had not known each other long; but there was something in the young
man's manner--nay, let me go farther--in his character, which invited
confidence, which besought the hearts around to throw