s host and his cousin
both coldly, and me with a glance intended to express the deepest
sympathy mingled with high admiration and esteem.

'How much allegiance do you owe to that man?' he asked below his breath,
as he stood beside me at the window, affecting to be making observations
on the weather.

'None,' I answered. And immediately returning to the table, I employed
myself in making the tea. He followed, and would have entered into some
kind of conversation with me, but the other guests were now beginning to
assemble, and I took no more notice of him, except to give him his
coffee.

After breakfast, determined to pass as little of the day as possible in
company with Lady Lowborough, I quietly stole away from the company and
retired to the library. Mr. Hargrave followed me thither, under pretence
of coming for a book; and first, turning to the shelves, he selected a
volume, and then quietly, but by no means timidly, approaching me, he
stood beside me, resting his hand on the back of my chair, and said
softly, 'And so you consider yourself free at last?'

'Yes,' said I, without moving, or raising my eyes from my book, 'free to
do anything but offend God and my conscience.'

There was a momentary pause.

'Very right,' said he, 'provided your conscience be not too morbidly
tender, and your ideas of God not too erroneously severe; but can you
suppose it would offend that benevolent Being to make the happiness of
one who would die for yours?--to raise a devoted heart from purgatorial
torments to a state of heavenly bliss, when you could do it without the
slightest injury to yourself or any other?'

This was spoken in a low, earnest, melting tone, as he bent over me. I
now raised my head; and steadily confronting his gaze, I answered calmly,
'Mr. Hargrave, do you mean to insult me?'

He was not prepared for this. He paused a moment to recover the shock;
then, drawing himself up and removing his hand from my chair, he
answered, with proud sadness,--'That was not my intention.'

I just glanced towards the door, with a slight movement of the head, and
then returned to my book. He immediately withdrew. This was better than
if I had answered with more words, and in the passionate spirit to which
my first impulse would have prompted. What a good thing it is to be able
to command one's temper! I must labour to cultivate this inestimable
quality: God only knows how often I shall need it in this rough, dark
road