wiser under the
circumstances to say, I hope?

"July 17. Oh, my heart! Mary came into my room this evening, and
absolutely startled me by falling at my side and burying her face in my
lap. 'Oh, Eleanore, Eleanore!' she murmured, quivering with what seemed
to me very happy sobs. But when I strove to lift her head to my breast,
she slid from my arms, and drawing herself up into her old attitude of
reserved pride, raised her hand as if to impose silence, and haughtily
left the room. There is but one interpretation to put upon this. Mr.
Clavering has expressed his sentiments, and she is filled with that
reckless delight which in its first flush makes one insensible to the
existence of barriers which have hitherto been deemed impassable. When
will Uncle come?

"July 18. little did I think when I wrote the above that Uncle was
already in the house. He arrived unexpectedly on the last train, and
came into my room just as I was putting away my diary. Looking a little
care-worn, he took me in his arms and then asked for Mary. I dropped my
head, and could not help stammering as I replied that she was in her own
room. Instantly his love took alarm, and leaving me, he hastened to
her apartment, where I afterwards learned he came upon her sitting
abstractedly before her dressing-table with Mr. Clavering's family ring
on her finger. I do not know what followed. An unhappy scene, I fear,
for Mary is ill this morning, and Uncle exceedingly melancholy and
stern.

"Afternoon. We are an unhappy family! Uncle not only refuses to consider
for a moment the question of Mary's alliance with Mr. Clavering, but
even goes so far as to demand his instant and unconditional dismissal.
The knowledge of this came to me in the most distressing way.
Recognizing the state of affairs, but secretly rebelling against a
prejudice which seemed destined to separate two persons otherwise fitted
for each other, I sought Uncle's presence this morning after breakfast,
and attempted to plead their cause. But he almost instantly stopped me
with the remark, 'You are the last one, Eleanore, who should seek to
promote this marriage.' Trembling with apprehension, I asked him
why. 'For the reason that by so doing you work entirely for your own
interest.' More and more troubled, I begged him to explain himself. 'I
mean,' said he, 'that if Mary disobeys me by marrying this Englishman,
I shall disinherit her, and substitute your name for hers in my will as
well as in m