ed as if her young spirit had been tempted away from the household
paths of thought, far into tangled wilds where it had lost
itself--tempted, like other children, by the mere pleasure of the
ramble--led on to catch a butterfly, or chase the rainbow.
Feeling--passion, had not mingled with the dream at all, and
consequently there had been no suffering. I am not sure that on other
occasions, when such absent fits fell upon her, Emily Hastings was not
more joyous, more full of pure delight, than when, in a gay and
sparkling mood, she moved her father's wonder at what he thought light
frivolity. But now it was all bitter: the labyrinth was dark as well as
intricate, and the thorns tore her as she groped for some path across
the wilderness.

Before it had lasted very long--before it had at all reached its
conclusion--and as she had sat at the window of the drawing-room, gazing
out upon the sky without seeing either white cloud or blue, Sir Philip
Hastings himself, on a short journey for some magisterial purpose,
entered the room, spoke a few words to Mrs. Hazleton, and then turned to
his daughter. Had he been half an hour later, Emily would have cast her
arms round his neck and told him all; but as it was, she remained
self-involved, even in his presence--answered indeed mechanically--spoke
words of affection with an absent air, and let the mind still run on
upon the path which it had chosen.

Sir Philip had no time to stay till this fit was past, and Mrs. Hazleton
was glad to get rid of him civilly before any other act of the drama
began.

But his daughter's mood did not escape Sir Philip's eyes. I have said
that for her he was full of observation, though he often read the
results wrongly; and now he marked Emily's mood with doubt, and not with
pleasure. "What can this mean?" he asked himself, "can any thing have
gone wrong? It is strange, very strange. Perhaps her mother was right
after all, and it might have been better to take her to the capital."

Thus thinking, Sir Philip himself fell into a reverie, not at all
unlike that in which he had found his daughter. Yet he understood not
hers, and pondered upon it as something strange and inextricable.

In the mean time, Emily thought on, till at length Mrs. Hazleton
reminded her that they were to go that day to the Waterfall. She rose
mechanically, sought her room, dressed, and gazed from the window.

It is wonderful, however, how small a thing will sometimes take the