than my own. In the
meanwhile, Mr. Brandon's new residence--the handsomest in our
vicinity--had been completed, and his family was permanently located
among us. His domestic circle consisted of Gerald, a daughter, about
Theresa's age, and a maiden lady, the sister of his wife, who, since
Mrs. Brandon's death, had done the household honors. Gerald had been,
from the first, a constant visiter at the parsonage, and he now
participated in our solicitude to welcome our darling back. About
sunset, on the day of Theresa's return, I directed my steps toward the
cottage, and I was but halfway to my destination, when I saw her
coming to meet me. I could never be mistaken in her light, rapid walk,
whose movements were full of grace. Not for many a long, sad year, had
a reception so affectionate as hers been given me; and her greeting
brought tears to my old eyes, and called up painful memories to my
heart. In appearance she had greatly improved; her slight figure had
rounded into more womanly proportions, and her motions were full of
the wild, unstudied gracefulness that had always characterized her.
There was about her a fascination I cannot explain, a something
independent of externals--a witchery to be felt but not defined.
Perhaps it was the visible influence of mental gifts, the reflection
of that purity of heart and mind which impressed itself on all her
words and actions.

Let it not, however, be imagined, that because in my fond remembrance
I have lingered long upon Theresa's many virtues, I was ignorant of
her faults. They were those inseparable from her temperament; an
impetuosity which frequently misled her judgment, and a confidence in
her own beliefs, a reliance on her own will, that nothing but an
appeal to her affections could ever subdue. She was an instance of
that sad truth, that our defects shape our destinies; that one failing
may exert over our lot a more potent influence than many excellencies,
and may mar the brilliancy of our moral picture by a single shadow,
that shall darken it all. In after life, when trial and suffering
pressed wearily upon her, all her griefs might have been traced back
to the influence of faults, which in her childhood were not
sufficiently developed to seem of consequence, or to merit rebuke. To
us she was so loving and complying, that the less favorable traits of
her nature were lost to our eyes in the brightness of her better
endowments. Like all poetic persons, she had various f