oined Amabel, "but the
change that has taken place in my feelings, may operate beneficially
upon my constitution."

"No doubt of it, my dear," replied Mrs. Buscot; "no doubt."

The good dame felt a strong inclination at this moment to introduce a
subject very near her heart, but, feeling doubtful as to its reception,
she checked herself. The devoted attachment of the apprentice to her
niece had entirely won her regard, and she fondly hoped she would be
able to wean Amabel from all thought of the Earl of Rochester, and
induce her to give her hand to her faithful lover. With this view, she
often spoke to her of Leonard--of his devotion and constancy, his good
looks and excellent qualities; and though Amabel assented to all she
said, Mrs. Buscot was sorry to perceive that the impression she desired
was not produced. It was not so with Nizza Macascree. Whenever Leonard's
name was mentioned, her eyes sparkled, her cheek glowed, and she
responded so warmly to all that was said in his praise, that Mrs. Buscot
soon found out the state of her heart. The discovery occasioned her some
little disquietude, for the worthy creature could not bear the idea of
making even her niece happy at the expense of another.

As to the object of all this tender interest, he felt far happier than
he had done for some time. He saw Amabel every day, and noted with
unspeakable delight the gradual improvement which appeared to be taking
place in her health. The greater part of his time, however, was not
passed in her society, but in threading the intricacies of the wood, or
in rambling over the neighbouring downs; and he not only derived
pleasure from these rambles, but his health and spirits, which had been
not a little shaken by the awful scenes he had recently witnessed, were
materially improved. Here, at last, he seemed to have got rid of the
grim spectre which, for two months, had constantly haunted him. No
greater contrast can be conceived than his present quiet life offered to
the fearful excitement he had recently undergone. For hot and narrow
thoroughfares reeking with pestilential effluvia, resounding with
frightful shrieks, or piteous cries, and bearing on every side marks of
the destructive progress of the scourge--for these terrible sights and
sounds--for the charnel horrors of the plague-pit--the scarcely less
revolting scenes at the pest-house--the dismal bell announcing the
dead-cart--the doleful cries of the buriers--for graves surfe