is will his property was now found to be bequeathed to his two
daughters; and his brother, Philip Hadwin, was named executor, and
guardian to his daughters till they should be twenty years old. This
name was no sooner heard by my friend, than she exclaimed, in a tone of
affright, "Executor! My uncle! What is that? What power does that give
him?"

"I know not exactly the power of executors. He will, doubtless, have
possession of your property till you are twenty years of age. Your
person will likewise be under his care till that time."

"Must he decide where I am to live?"

"He is vested with all the power of a father."

This assurance excited the deepest consternation. She fixed her eyes on
the ground, and was lost, for a time, in the deepest reverie.
Recovering, at length, she said, with a sigh, "What if my father had
made no will?"

"In that case, a guardian could not be dispensed with, but the right of
naming him would belong to yourself."

"And my uncle would have nothing to do with my affairs?"

"I am no lawyer," said I; "but I presume all authority over your person
and property would devolve upon the guardian of your own choice."

"Then I am free." Saying this, with a sudden motion, she tore in several
pieces the will, which, during this dialogue, she had held in her hand,
and threw the fragments into the fire.

No action was more unexpected to me than this. My astonishment hindered
me from attempting to rescue the paper from the flames. It was consumed
in a moment. I was at a loss in what manner to regard this sacrifice. It
denoted a force of mind little in unison with that simplicity and
helplessness which this girl had hitherto displayed. It argued the
deepest apprehensions of mistreatment from her uncle. Whether his
conduct had justified this violent antipathy, I had no means of judging.
Mr. Hadwin's choice of him, as his executor, was certainly one proof of
his integrity.

My abstraction was noticed by Eliza with visible anxiety. It was plain
that she dreaded the impression which this act of seeming temerity had
made upon me. "Do not be angry with me," said she; "perhaps I have been
wrong, but I could not help it. I will have but one guardian and one
protector."

The deed was irrevocable. In my present ignorance of the domestic
history of the Hadwins, I was unqualified to judge how far circumstances
might extenuate or justify the act. On both accounts, therefore, it was
improper to expatiate upo