scenes might
enliven her mind, and bring back her wonted spirits, which, chiming the
musical bells of youth's happy glee, used to charm the age-stricken
hearts of her parents. But these scenes had lost their power over her.
The secrets Blacket House had to divulge still lay like an unholy spirit
upon her heart, killed its energies, and rendered her miserable. She
expected the additional sorrow of his society in these forced walks, and
her grief was mixed with surprise at his absence. He was often at the
house, but he avoided her. She even saw him turn into a by-path, to get
out of the way in which she walked--a circumstance as inexplicable as
any of the prior difficulties with which the whole affair was beset on
every side. She continued her meditations, called up repeated energies
to nerve her for her disclosure, and, with many a sigh, felt them die
away, and the tongue cleave to her mouth, as the unavailing effort shook
her frame.

She had been in the habit of meeting Kirkpatrick at regular intervals;
but two of the stated periods had passed without an interview. The third
was approaching; and she trembled as the necessity of throwing herself
on his bosom, and seeking counsel in her difficulty, appeared to her in
such a form as to shake her resolution not to encounter another
night-meeting with her cousin. On the morning of that evening when she
must repair to the burying-ground, or lose the chance of meeting
Kirkpatrick for a considerable time, it was announced to her parents, in
her presence, at the table of the morning meal, that Blacket House had,
on the previous day, gone on a visit to a relation in a very distant
part of the country, and that he would not return for eight days. She
heard it, and her eyes were involuntarily turned up to heaven, in
thanksgiving for the opportunity she now enjoyed of sobbing out her
sorrows on the bosom of her Kirkpatrick, and getting good counsel in her
distress. She said nothing when the announcement was made, and heard,
without heeding, the remarks of her parents. Her thoughts were in
Death's Mailing, and the pallid hue of her cheek gave place for a moment
to the flush that followed the fancied touch of his lips, and the
pressure that brought her nearer to the bosom where lay all the relief
she now had in this world. She sought more freely than she had done for
some time her old retreats, and again the song of the merle had some
music for her ear--so ready is the oppressed soul