o has built upon
a rock, or that of a child which a breath can destroy, I
hardly know."

"I felt," said Mrs. Middleton, "while I was talking to her, as
if she hardly belonged to this world. Do you know, Ellen," she
continued, with a smile, "I could not have asked her if she
was in love with Henry. I should have feared to see her vanish
away like that beautiful apparition in the German Legend,
which dissolved into air, if a word of mortal love reached her
ears. But this is all nonsense," she said with a sigh; "I hope
they are happy; yet, after having looked forward so much to
seeing them, I now have a more vague feeling of discomfort
about them than I had before."

My uncle came in just then; and I was glad to leave the room,
and thus escape a repetition of the question which I bad left
unanswered with respect to Henry's conversation with me.

CHAPTER XI.

"I do not love her, nor will strive to do it."

SHAKESPEARE.

What course was I to pursue? Should I take the first
opportunity that would offer of approaching Henry, and, by
charging him solemnly to tell me at once the meaning of his
hints and threats, relieve myself from the tormenting
uncertainty under which I suffered, and obtain from him some
promise which would, comparatively at least, set my mind at
ease? These questions I asked myself over and over again
during the rest of that day and the succeeding night, till,
towards morning, I fell asleep without having come to any
decision. Day after day passed on, and still no explanation
occurred between us. The projected dinner had taken place; Mr.
Middleton and Mr. Lovell had both been captivated and touched
by the beauty, simplicity, and sweetness of Alice's face and
manner. They seemed instinctively to feel that there was
something holy about her,--something that forbade one to doubt
or distrust her, had appearances been even twenty times more
against her than they were; and both were now still more
indignant with Henry for the coldness and indifference with
which he seemed to regard her, than they had previously been
at his marriage. I admired Alice from the bottom of my soul;
she was, to me, the very type of purity,--the ideal of
perfection; but I did not seek her much. Obliged to see Henry
often at home, I shrank from going to his house; and her life
was so full of holy duties; the tone of her mind, the
character of her conversation, breathed a spirit of such
earnest faith, of such religiou