my apartment. Thinking it might be Mr Trevannion, and not
wishing to see him, I blew out my own light and retreated to a small
dressing-room, within my chamber, communicating by a glass door. The
light evidently approached, and at last I perceived the party was
entering my room, the door of which was wide open. It was Miss
Trevannion who entered, and, turning round with her chamber-light in her
hand, appeared to survey the apartment with a mournful air. She
perceived my valise, and her eyes were fixed upon it for some time; at
last she walked up to the dressing-table, and, sitting on the stool
before it, leant down her head upon her hands and wept.

"Alas!" thought I, "if those tears were but for me; but it is not so--
she has been excited, and her tears have come to her relief."

After a time she raised her head from the table, and said, "How unjust
have I been--and I shall see him no more!--if I could but beg his
pardon, I should be more happy. Poor fellow!--what must he have felt at
my harsh bearing. Oh! My father, I could not have believed it. And
what did I say?--that I had no feeling for--well, I thought so at the
time, but now--I am not quite sure that I was correct, though he--well,
it's better that he's gone--but I cannot bear that he should have gone
as he has done. How his opinion of me must have changed! That is what
vexes me--" and again she bent her head down on the table and wept.

In a moment she again rose, and took her candle in her hand. Perceiving
on the dressing-table a small gold ring which I had taken off my finger
the day before, and had forgotten, she took it up and examined it.
After a little while she laid her light down on the table, and put the
ring upon her finger.

"I will keep it till I see him again," murmured she; and then taking her
light she walked slowly out of the room.

The knowledge I had gained by this unintentional eaves-dropping on my
part, was the source of much reflection; and as I lay on the bed without
taking off my clothes, it occupied my thoughts till the day began to
break. That I still retained the good opinion of Miss Trevannion was
certain, and the mortification I had endured at our final interview was
now wholly removed. It was her duty to suppose her parent not in fault
till the contrary was proved. She had known her father for years--me
she had only known for a short time--and never before had she known him
guilty of injustice. But her expressio