green boughs in
honor of her chartered fair, and the tall cliffs were lined with
gayly-dressed groups, rejoicing in their holiday; but these things gave
no pleasure to Elizabeth. The uproarious glee of her brother Edward
annoyed her, and finding Arthur appeared in no haste to offer her his
arm, to assist her in ascending the lofty cliffs of Dunwich, after they
had landed, she took that of the reluctant boy and walked proudly on,
without deigning to direct a glance toward her lover.

"I wish you would walk with your own man, sister Bess," said Edward. "I
want to have some fun with the other boys."

"You are very unkind, Edward, to wish to desert me, when Arthur has
treated me so ill. If it had not been for your perversity in jumping
into the boat, and refusing to leave it, I should not have disobeyed my
father by coming here," said Elizabeth.

"It is of no use thinking of that now," rejoined Edward; "as we are
here, we had better enjoy ourselves."

Elizabeth never felt so little in the humor for any thing of the kind
called pleasure. The want of sympathy, too, in her little brother, added
to the bitterness of her feelings. She directed a furtive glance toward
the party behind, and perceived Arthur engaged in what in these days
would be called an active flirtation with her rival, Joan Bates: under
these circumstances she determined not to relinquish her brother's arm;
but that perverse urchin, whom she had so entirely loved and petted from
his cradle, with the usual ingratitude of a spoiled child, took the
earliest opportunity of breaking from her, and joining a boisterous
company of boys of his own age. Bennet Allen then approached, and
offered his arm to Elizabeth, with the mortifying observation, "that as
they both appeared to be forsaken and forlorn, the best thing they could
do would be to walk together."

The proud heart of Elizabeth was ready to burst at this remark, and had
it been any where else, she would have rejected the proffered attentions
of young Allen with scorn; but she felt the impropriety of walking alone
in a fair, and silently accepted the arm of her rival's discarded lover,
and at the same time affected a gayety of manner she was far from
feeling, in the hope of piquing Arthur Blackbourne. Nothing is, however,
so wearisome to both mind and body as an outward show of mirth when the
heart is sorrowful. Elizabeth Younges relapsed into long fits of gloom
and silence, and when addressed by her comp