r her affliction, although she kept the secret, now
talked of Seymour. In a few days the arrangements were made--the
cottage was put into an agent's hands to be disposed of; and, quitting
with regret an abode in which they had passed some years of unalloyed
happiness, they set off for Galway, where they found Rainscourt on their
arrival. Consigning his daughter to his care, they removed to their own
house, which was on the property which McElvina had purchased, and about
four miles distant from the castle. McElvina's name was a passport to
the hearts of his tenants, who declared that the head of the house had
come unto his own again. That he had the true eye of the McElvinas,
there was no mistaking, for no other family had such an eye. That his
honour had gladdened their hearts by seeing the property into the ould
family again--as ould a one as any in ould Ireland.

McElvina, like a wise man, held his tongue; and then they talked of
their misfortunes--of the bad potato crop--of arrears of rent--one
demand was heaped upon another, until McElvina was ultimately obliged to
refer them all to the agent, whom he requested to be as lenient as
possible.

Emily was now reinstated in the castle where she had passed the first
years of her existence, and found that all in it was new, except her old
nurse, Norah. The contiguity of the McElvinas was a source of comfort
to her, for she could not admire the dissipated companions of her
father. Her life was solitary--but she had numerous resources within
herself, and the winter passed rapidly away.

In the spring, she returned to London with her father, who proudly
introduced his daughter. Many were the solicitations of those who
admired her person, or her purse. But in vain: her heart was
pre-engaged; and it was with pleasure that she returned to Ireland,
after the season was over, to renew her intimacy with the McElvinas, and
to cherish, in her solitude, the remembrance of the handsome and
high-minded William Seymour.

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

And now, with sails declined,
The wandering vessel drove before the wind;
Toss'd and retoss'd aloft, and then alow;
Nor port they seek, nor certain course they know,
But every moment wait the coming blow.
DRYDEN.

Three days after the _Aspasia_ had taken a fresh departure from the
Western Isles, a thick fog came on, the continuance of which prevented
them from ascertaining their situation by the chronometer. The win