th no
little surprise, and possibly with a good deal of pleasure by more than
one member of the family. Mrs. Rainsfield was particular in her
enquiries, as to the cause of his continuing to seclude himself, and
anxiously inquisitive for a solution of his mysterious melancholy.
Eleanor was unaltered, either in personal appearance or her manner
towards him; she entertained the same admiration, and though her heart
whispered to her suspicions, that she was in some way connected with his
dejection, she had no idea of the extent of his feelings' ravishment. At
the same time she did not deem any secresy of her admiration essential
to a compatibility with modesty. She found pleasure in the society of
John Ferguson; liked his manner and person; and therefore threw into her
reception of him, when they met, a warmth and cordiality, which, though
only expressive of her own pure friendship, filled with ecstatic glow
the very blood of her enraptured lover. She was, in fact, though
unconsciously to herself, with the spirit she was investing in the mere
exercise of common-place formalities, creating, or rather strengthening,
a feeling in the breast of John Ferguson, which never could be
eradicated; but which would, of a certainty, consume his life and
spirits, if he were not blessed with a reciprocal attachment.

In the present interview, however, Eleanor did not join with the lady of
the house in her playful badinage; indeed, it was not her usual manner;
but she had eyes, and those eyes (differing from the followers of Mr.
Irving) spoke in no unknown tongue, at least to John; to him they had
the power of communicating in many languages, so that when she gave him
a look, in which was embodied all she wished to convey, its meaning was
instantly and rightly interpreted by our hero. If we were called upon to
describe in words the tumultuous ragings of those elements that cleave
the very mountains, lay prostrate the gigantic denizens of the forest,
and make the earth tremble with the power of their agitation; if we were
required to depict the falling avalanche, that sweeps in its course all
vestiges of vitality from the face of the earth; or to form an adequate
conception of the occult ramifications of the electric fluid, which is
at man's pleasure made to compass the globe with the quickness of
thought, we would confess ourselves incompetent. Equally so are we to
describe the glance of a woman. Some looks there are, however, which,
thoug