his gloom was strangely interspersed with glances of swelling triumph; his smiles were no longer sneers⁠—yet they did not betray a sunshine of the heart, but rather joy on a bad victory. He looked on me askance, with a kind of greedy satisfaction, and at his father with scorn. I trembled, and turned to my uncle; but sadness and confusion marked his features⁠—he was stamped as with disgrace, and quailed beneath my eye; though presently he rallied, drew a chair near, and was kinder than ever. He told me that he was going up to town on the morrow, and that Vernon was to accompany him; he asked me if there was anything he could do for me, and testified his affection by a thousand little attentions. Vernon said nothing, and took leave of me so coldly, that I thought his manner implied that he expected to see me in the morning. Thinking it right to indulge him, I rose early; but he did not come down till long after Sir Richard, who thanked me for my kindness in disturbing myself on his account. They went away immediately after breakfast, and Vernon’s formal adieu again struck me with wonder. Was it possible that he was indeed going to marry another? This doubt was all my comfort, for I was painfully agitated by the false position in which I had entangled myself, by the mystery that enveloped my actions, and the falsehood which my lips perpetually implied, if they did not utter.

I was habitually an early riser. On the third morning after the departure of my relations, before I rose, and while I was dressing, I thought that pebbles were thrown at my window; but my mind was too engrossed to pay attention, till at last, after my toilette had been leisurely completed, I looked from my window, and saw Vernon below, in the secluded part of the park which it overlooked. I hurried down, my heart palpitating with anxiety.

“I have been waiting for you these two hours,” he said angrily; “did you not hear my signal?”

“I know of no signal,” I replied; “I am not accustomed to clandestine appointments.”

“And yet you can carry on a clandestine engagement excellently well! You told Sir Richard that you did not love me⁠—that you should be glad if I married another.”

An indignant reply was bursting from my lips, but he saw the rising storm and hastened to allay it. He changed his tone at once from reproach to tender protestations.

“It broke my heart to leave you as I did,” he said, “but I could do no less. Sir Richard insisted on my accompanying him⁠—I was obliged to comply. Even now he believes me to be in town. I have travelled all night. He half-suspected me, because I refused to dine with him today; and I was forced to promise to join him at a ball tonight. I need not be there till twelve or one, and so can stay two hours with you.”

“But why this hurried journey?” I asked. “Why do you come?”

He answered by pleading the vehemence of his affection, and spoke of the risk he ran of losing me forever. “Do you not know,” he said, “that my father has set his heart upon your marrying my brother?”

“He is very good,” I replied disdainfully. “But I am not a slave, to be bought and sold. My cousin Clinton is the last person in the world whom you need fear.”

“Oh, Ellen, how much do you comfort⁠—transport me, by this generous contempt for wealth and rank! You ask why I am here⁠—it were worth the fatigue, twice ten thousand times told, to have these assurances. I have trembled⁠—I have feared⁠—but you will not love this favoured of fortune⁠—this elder son!”

I cannot describe Vernon’s look as he said this. Methought envy, malice, and demoniac exultation were all mingled. He laughed aloud⁠—I shrunk from him dismayed. He became calmer a moment after.

“My life is in your hands, Ellen,” he said;⁠—but why repeat his glossing speeches, in which deceit and truth were so kneaded into one mass, that the poison took the guise of the wholesome substance, while the whole was impregnated with destruction. I felt that I liked him less than ever; yet I yielded to his violence. I believed myself the victim of a venial but irreparable mistake of my own. I confirmed my promises, and pledged my faith most solemnly. It is true that I undeceived him as much as I could with regard to the extent of my attachment; at first he was furious at my coldness, then overwhelmed me with entreaties for forgiveness⁠—tears even streamed from his eyes⁠—and then again he haughtily reminded me that I forfeited every virtue of my sex, and became a monument of falsehood, if I failed him. We separated at last⁠—I promised to write every day, and saw him ride away with a sensation as if relieved from the infliction of the torture.

A week after this scene⁠—my spirits still depressed, and often weeping my dear father’s death, which I considered the root of every evil⁠—I was reading, or rather trying to read, in my dressing-room, but in reality brooding over my sorrows, when I heard Marianne’s cheerful laugh in the shrubbery, and her voice calling me to join her. I roused myself from my sad reverie, and resolved to cast aside care and misery, while Vernon’s absence afforded me a shadow of freedom; and, in fulfilment of this determination, went down to join my young lighthearted cousin. She was not alone. Clinton was with her. There was no resemblance between him and Vernon. His countenance was all sunshine; his light-blue eyes laughed in their own gladness and purity; his beaming smile, his silver-toned voice, his tall, manly figure, and, above all, his openhearted engaging manners, were all the reverse of his dark mysterious brother. I saw him, and felt that my prejudices had been ridiculous; we became intimate in a moment. I know not how it was,

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