ht up as she had been amid all the refinements of
polished society, whose sensibilities were rendered doubly acute by
nature and the circumstances which environed her, to be thus degraded
into the condition of a base-born, despised being,--to be so suddenly
hurled from honor and opulence,--it was a dreadful blow! So feelingly
did he narrate the particulars, so tenderly did he describe the
loneliness of her position, that his hearers were deeply affected, and
Delia shed a flood of tears.

"I too have been a wanderer, though a voluntary one, from the home of my
father," said she.

"Nay, Delia," said Dalhousie, tenderly; "do not revert to your own
experience. Remember you are not strong enough to bear much excitement."

"I did not intend to speak of my own experience; but the sufferings of
poor Miss Dumont call to my mind the remembrance of similar feelings."

"I presume the company are not desirous of hearing the story of an
elopement," said Dalhousie, with a smile.

"Nor I to relate one. The pure devotion of Miss Dumont to the memory of
her father recalls the affection, the fond indulgence, of my own father.
I have not, as she has, the consciousness of having never wilfully
abused his confidence."

"If you have erred, madam," said Mr. Faxon, "your father still lives,
does he not? Perhaps it is not yet too late to atone for the fault."

"Alas! I know not whether he is living or not. I wrote to him several
times, but never received an answer."

"Who was your father, madam?" said Mr. Faxon, with much sympathy in the
tones of his voice.

"I dread even to mention the name I bore in the innocent days of
childhood."

"Fie, Delia!" said Dalhousie, with a pleasant laugh, "what have you done
to sink yourself so far in your own estimation? You and your father
differed as to the propriety of our marriage; to you, as a true woman,
your course was plain. This is the height and depth of your monstrous
sin."

The conversation was here interrupted by the announcement that a
gentleman waited to see Mr. Faxon.

The good clergyman had a habit of promptness in answering all calls upon
him. This custom had been acquired by the reflection that a poor dying
mortal might wait his blessing, ere he departed on his endless journey;
that, sometimes, a moment's delay could never be atoned for; therefore
he rose on the instant, and hastened to the parlor, where the visitor
waited.

"Ah! is it possible--Captain Carroll!" said he, as he