d to exclude the rays of the sun; the smell of the
flowers in the _jardiniere_ was almost oppressive, and the
very cries in the street seemed uttered languidly, and without
their usual shrill spirit. After breakfast I sat down at my
drawing-table, and tried to finish a sketch of the inside of
Westminster Abbey, which I had begun the day before. As I was
preparing my colours and arranging my brushes, the door opened
and Henry walked in. "Your sister is in her room," I
immediately said; "I will tell her that you are here;" and I
got up for the purpose.

"Really, Ellen," he said, "I suppose you are not going to
behave to me now as you did last night. I protest to you that
I cannot and will not bear it. I am come for the express
purpose of seeking an explanation."

"Then go to Mr. Middleton, and ask him to give it you. After
undergoing all that I suffered yesterday at your house; after
leaving it with a throbbing head and an aching heart, I had to
go through a scene with my uncle, in which my feelings were
wounded to the quick and my pride cruelly humbled. What is all
this to lead to, Henry? What do you expect? What do you
require? I am accused of thoughts, of designs, of conduct,
which are as foreign to my mind as they are abhorrent to my
feelings; but if this is nothing to you--if you care neither
for what I may suffer, or for what others may think of me, let
me tell you that if at this moment Mr. Middleton knew that you
were here--if last night he had seen me speak to you, or dance
with you as usual, an order would be given at the door never
to let you in again."

"He would not dare to insult me in such a manner," exclaimed
Henry with violence; "my sister would never endure it."

"He _would_ do it," I repeated earnestly; "he is stern and
uncompromising to a degree which, till latterly, I did not
know myself; and if now--"

"He has hated and persecuted me from a boy; he is the original
cause of all I suffer; he will drive me to some desperate act
of guilt or folly before he has done; but, by God, if I am not
revenged--"

"Hush, hush; you don't know what you are saying or doing," I
cried, as he walked about the room in the most vehement
agitation. "Be calm, I implore you. We are going out of town
now for a few days; soon after that, we return to Elmsley. We
shall be separated for a long while, Henry. Why will you not
strive to conquer this unhappy, this fatal fancy? That I
should be forced to speak of it--to ac