y this appeal, and replied that he
would be most happy to be the means of his sister cultivating and
enjoying their friendship; but that if she made up her mind to live with
her brothers at Fern Vale, she would be her own mistress, and have
entire control over her own actions; so that the acceptance and
prolongation of any visit would in a great measure depend upon her own
whim. He said, however, from what he knew of her disposition, he had no
doubt she would far prefer the agreeable society of such friends as Mrs.
and Miss Rainsfield, to the dull monotony of a guardianship of two
bachelor brothers.

The conversation, after this episode, brightened, and was continued in
a pleasing strain for the remainder of the evening.

On the following morning, true to their word, the young men took their
departure, and reached their station without the occurrence of an event
worth recording; and for the next two or three days, they were fully
occupied in the settlement of matters at Fern Vale. In the midst of a
routine of business, John Ferguson had little time to think of matters
relating to his feelings; but when the first bustle succeeded to
leisure, his thoughts of Eleanor returned with redoubled force. He would
then picture to his imagination her expressive features; he would dream
of her abstractedly by day, and her form was the subject of his visions
by night; and yet, though he thought her personal charms the perfection
of frail humanity, his admiration was not so much for the outward fane,
as the spirit that held dominion within. It is true his attention had
been first arrested by her beauty; but the cause of those after
feelings, which now consumed his soul, was the constant contemplation
of her gentleness, amiability, mental accomplishments, and pure
unsullied spirit. These were they which won his love, and secured his
heart in a hopeless thraldom. In its empire he had established one
sovereign, who was supreme, and that sovereign was Eleanor; his soul had
but one idol, and the deity of this feticism was Eleanor; his mind had
raised one standard of human perfection, and the motto of that standard,
the excelsior of his fate, was Eleanor. The spirit of Eleanor was in
every bush; her face smiled down upon him from every tree; the very
birds seemed for the time, in his presence, to forget their natural
utterance, and screamed in various tones of dissonance the name of
Eleanor. And yet (he would think in his musings) this pri