CHAPTER XXI.

A MORAL.

HUNTLEY passed some hours in a storm of passion: he then began to think of Hannah more temperately, and to believe that Mr. Russell, for ends of his own, had persuaded her to a sacrifice which her heart would not have dictated. Scarcely did the possibility occur to him, when he settled it into a fact: under this new impression he wrote to Hannah, and left the letter at the cottage himself. During the remainder of the evening he was in hopes of receiving an answer; and when forced to abandon the expectation, his anger reverted to its first object, whom he now accused of coldness of heart. "She never did, she never could appreciate such love as mine!" exclaimed he, as he impetuously paced his narrow room. "How prone we are to believe that a lovely face must be the

index of as perfect a mind! That evenness of manner, which I fancied was the restraint feminine modesty held over strong feeling, is nothing after all, but the composure of a selfish disposition. She can neither err, nor have sufficient magnanimity to forgive errors. She never felt

anguish! She never loved!"

The next morning, Huntley felt that he could not abandon Hannah without another effort to regain her. He went to the White Cottage,-found Mrs. Wellford and Rosina in the parlour,-and guessed, from their embarrassed manner, that his hopes had little on which to depend. After breaking off two or three hurried sentences,-for how could he speak on indifferent subjects?-he ventured to inquire after Miss Wellford, and to hope that she was not confined to her room.

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Not, not by illness," said Mrs. Wellford, with hesitation.

"If she would permit me only a single moment -dear Mrs. Wellford, there was some misunderstanding,-in the name of your former kindness to me," said he, taking her hand and almost ready to bend his knee, be my friend now. Five mi

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nutes, perhaps, might serve for my justification-"

I fear, not," said Mrs. Wellford, softened by his distress, "however, Rosina, ask your sister—” Rosina did not require a second bidding.

"And, now, for Heaven's sake," exclaimed he, as soon as she had disappeared, "tell me what are my crimes, and who are my accusers."

"No one has been your accuser, Mr. Huntley. We have merely drawn inferences from what we have casually heard and seen; and the result of those inferences in my daughter's mind, has been, that in spite of your varied talents, you could not make her happy."

"And is

your

own opinion the same?”

"I must confess that it is."

"And this is the punishment," said he, resting his head on his hands, " of boyish folly."

"You lead me to expect, however, that you can justify yourself—"

"No," said he, bitterly, "if Hannah, judging of me, by what she has seen me, can feel that I am unworthy of her, there could be little chance of her loving me if she knew all!"

Rosina returned with reluctant steps to say, that her sister did not feel well enough to leave her room. Huntley quite lost self command. He criminated himself and then endeavoured to obtain Mrs. Wellford's approval of his candour, and his desire of amendment. She commended it, but said, it was too slight a security for her daughter's happiness. From persuasion to entreaty, from entreaty to reproach, and even threats of suicide, which terrified Rosina into tears, Huntley proceeded, in the vain hope of softening, convincing, or intimidating Mrs. Wellford. At length, bidding both of them farewell, he left the house.

Huntley paused a moment at the gate, and looked towards the vicarage; but the thought of a moment was abandoned with a feeling of haughtiness, and he rapidly walked home. Here he paid his bills, packed up his pictures, and gave directions for their being sent to town. Some hours must elapse before the afternoon coach would pass through Summerfield; he therefore quitted the cottage, in hopes that activity of body might allay the fever of the mind, and hurried towards the downs. On his return through a lane after an

aimless walk to a considerable distance, he met the very man he wished to shun, Mr. Russell.

As Huntley was far from desiring to seek sympathy from any one at this moment, and least of all from Mr. Russell, he attempted to pass him with a common salutation; but the vicar, struck by his lowering countenance, was resolved not to be so easily shaken off.

"Where are you going in such haste?" said he, smiling.

"Home," answered Huntley.

"Home?"

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Literally. I shall be on the road thither in half an hour. You have saved me the trouble of leaving a P. P. C. card."

"Why, this is something sudden! You will return to us again, I suppose?"

"Never," said Huntley, in a tone of such anguish as to fill his good-natured rival with concern. It was impossible at that moment to doubt Mr. Russell's sincerity. Huntley felt it.

"Russell," said he, "I am the most miserable

of men!"