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Saturday, and on Monday they depart—and then, dearest, dearest, Millicent! we shall be once more all the world to each other." Tears came into Vernon's eyes as he uttered the last words; and after a short pause, during which he had been gazing upon Millicent with troubled yet tender earnestness, he vehemently added,— "Would to God they were already gone! would to God I had never seen them, Milly!" And his painful agitation distressed the affectionate heart of Millicent, who endeavored to soothe him with every tender and comforting assurance, best calculated to reconcile him to himself, and allay what she conceived to be the sudden storm of compunctious retrospection. That evening, whether in the fond weakness of her heart, yearning to give comfort, or that she really began to entertain hopes of prolonged life, (still dear-how dear to her if to be passed with Vernon!) for the first time since her danger had been made known to him, she spoke of the future-of an earthly future-looked at him almost believingly when he talked of their union, and did not shake her head, nor smile as she had smiled of late, when he talked of it as an event that was now assuredly to take place before the close of that autumn already entered upon. Once or twice, indeed, she seemed to shrink, as if from hope; but it was evident, at least it seemed evident to Vernon, that she did not turn from it as formerly; and as with him there was no medium between despair and joyful certainty, he hailed her doubtful encouragement as a pledge of perfect security, which would justify him for having acceded to a plan which he had hitherto hesitated from communicating to Millicent, though he had entered the Cottage that morning with the express purpose. Now, however, there was no reasonable cause to deter him from speaking-all was so safe-Millicent so well, and in such good spirits; so without further deliberation, he said, smilingly, but with somewhat of a hurried tone and a forced

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gaiety of manner, Milly! do you know I must have one long braid of that smooth raven hair (which is so becomingly arranged, now you have humored me by leaving off that dowdy cap), by way of talisman, to bind me to you during four-five days—it may be a whole week of separation." Millicent started, and the hectic of a moment suffused her pale face; but she only looked her surprise, and Vernon went on to explain, rather confusedly, while he was profitably busied in unrolling her ball of sewing thread, that Dr. Hartop had given him such a pressing invitation to accompany him and Lady Octavia to Exeter, and be their guest during the Musical Festival, which was to take place the week ensuing, that he felt it would have been not only ungracious, but ungrateful, to decline the courteous proposal; "and so, dearest Millicent," he continued, looking up from the handiwork on which his eyes had been fixed with intense interest during the first part. of his communication, "I have promised to go,—that is, with a mental reservation that you continue well enough for me to leave you without anxiety for those few days, and that you will not feel uncomfortable at my doing so." While Vernon was speaking, Millicent had time to recover from the painful emotion into which she had been surprised by his unexpected information, and inwardly rebuking herself for its unreasonable selfishness, promptly and cheerfully, quite right, dear Horace. well that I can spare you safely, and shall enjoy with you, in imagination, the musical treat that will be to you such a real banquet. On Monday, you said-the day after to-morrow— and to stay till?”—“ Only till the Saturday ensuing-I intend-I believe," replied Horace to her look of anxious inquiry. "At farthest, the Monday after; and in that case, Falkland, who stays for some weeks at Sea Vale, would take my duty.""But you will not stay away longernot much longer?" hesitatingly, yet

she said "You did

I am so

almost imploringly, rejoined Millicent, in a lower and less cheerful tone, a sudden shade slightly clouding the serenity of her mild countenance. "I am very nervous still, and may not long continue so well as I am now; and then, if any change should take place-Nay, do not look so disturbed, dear Horace-I am so well now! but do not stay away too long."-" I will not go I will not go, Milly! if it gives you one moment's pain, dear girl!-But how is this, Milly ?-a minute agone, and you spoke so cheerfully and hopefully; and now-that quivering lip!—those glistening eyes! -Millicent! my beloved! what means such sudden change ?"—"Forgive me, dear Horace! I am ashamed of my waywardness-of my caprice," she faltered out, concealing her face, now bathed in tears, against Vernon's shoulder-" But it is the infirmity of my enervating malady-the effect of weakness-of unstrung nerves; and sometimes an unbidden thought suddenly crosses and subdues me, and I cannot restrain these foolish tears. But they always do me good, Horace; and after the shower comes sunshine, you know," and she looked up at him as she spoke the last word, with still dewy eyes and a faintly brightening smile, that beautifully illustrated her simple metaphor. But the humid ray scarcely broke out into cloudless sunshine, though she recovered perfect serenity, and would not listen for a moment to Vernon's reiterated, but rather fainter proposition, of wholly relinquishing his intended excursion.

"Remember," said he, as they stood together in the Cottage porch, just before he left her that evening"Remember, Milly, I am to take away with me one of those ebon locks. If it is not ready for me to-morrow, I shall cut it off myself. I wish I had your picture, Milly!"-" I wish you had, dear Horace," she quickly answered; "I have often wished it lately-I should like you to have it; but there is my father's, that will be yours, Horace; and it is so like me, you know, you will never look upon it

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without thinking of me."—" Without thinking of you, Milly? Shall I not have yourself, your own dear living self, as well as that precious picture we shall so often look upon together?" But, dearest Horace, if it should be otherwise, if that picture only should become yours, place it somewhere where you may see it often when you are alone and in your quiet hours of serious thought. But do not look so very serious now-I spoke but of an if,' a passing thought. Tomorrow I shall send you away cheerfully."-" If you do not, Milly, here I remain, be sure. A word would keep me-only half a word. Speak it, beloved! I almost wish you would." But she spoke not, and bidding her an affectionate farewell for the night, he was turning to depart, but lingered yet a moment to point out to her a small white rosebud, which promised yet to blossom in its sheltered corner. "Look, Milly," he said, 66 The last rose of summer.' Your favorite rose will yield you yet one blossom. Before it is full-blown, I will be here to pluck and place it in your bosom." Words lightly spoken sometimes sink deeply into loving hearts, especially under circumstances such as Millicent's, where physical causes acted morbidly upon a mental system, by nature sensitive, and perhaps not wholly free from a taint of superstitious weakness. From that hour the rose became her calendar, and she watched its unfolding leaves, as if their perfect expansion was to be the crisis of her fate.

By what means, or under what pretences, Lady Octavia had succeeded in obtaining for Vernon an invitation to accompany Dr. Hartop and herself to Exeter, matters little to the reader of this story. The success of her ladyship's manoeuvres has been sufficiently illustrated by the preceding conversation. The day that intervened before that of his departure being Sunday, Vernon was detained from the Cottage during a great portion of it by his clerical duties. Then his assistance was required at the Rectory

in packing up certain portfolios, albums, and various nicknackeries, not to be safely entrusted even to the invaluable Jenkins, so that, although he contrived to look in two or three times upon Millicent, each visit was but for a few hurried minutes, the last briefest of all. And well for her that it was so, for though she had successfully struggled through the day to maintain a semblance of cheerful composure, and had indeed partly reasoned herself out of what she meekly accounted unreasonable disquietude; as evening drew on, the mental excitement subsided, her spirits seemed to ebb away with the departing daylight, and she felt as if they would hardly hold out "to speed the parting friend" with that cheerful farewell with which she had promised to dismiss him. Vernon also had his reasons for brief leave-taking; but his adieus, though fondly affectionate, were more than cheerful, hurried over with a voluble gaiety, and an exuberance of spirits that seemed hardly natural. "Till Saturday, dearest !" were his parting words, and before Millicent's long-restrained feelings had broken out into one choking sob, before the brimming tears had forced their way over her aching eyelids, he was out of sight and out of hearing, though the garden-gate still vibrated with the swing which had closed it behind him. And the lock of raven hair, which was to be his "talisman," which Millicent had not neglected to make ready as he had enjoined her, though with womanly coynees (womanly feeling rather) she had hesitated to give unclaimed-He was gone, and had forgotten to claim it.

The middle of the third week from the day of Vernon's farewell to Millicent, found him still at Exeter. Shall we tell how the time crept at Sea Vale in his absence or how it had flown with him in that world of novelty to which he found himself transported? Or shall we count over, link by link, "the chain of untoward circumstances" (so he wrote of them to Millicent) which had caused him to

prolong his absence from her so long beyond the term he had pledged himself to at parting? Alas! it is but too easy to picture to one's self the feelings of the lonely invalid—the first sharp pang of disappointment—the sickness of hope deferred—the sinking of the spirit into utter hopelessness. And it would be tedious and distasteful to enumerate all the frivolous excuses alleged by Vernon for his continuance at Exeter, excuses which, for a time, however, were more indulgently admitted by the generous, unsuspicious Millicent, than satisfactory to his own heart and slumbering, though not seared, conscience. Yet he had partly succeeded in stilling, though not stunning, the inward accuser. "Millicent's first letter had been cheerfully and cheeringly written. She was undoubtedly well-so well, that a few days, more or less-" But it was easier to drive away reflection altogether than, by resorting to it, to acquire perfect self-justification-so he fled from himself and his own thoughts to the siren, in whose charmed presence all but his own captivations were forgotten. Lady Octavia's attractions had not, however, achieved, unaided, the triumph over Vernon's best resolves-it might well be said over his best principles; and still their power had extended over his imagination only, leaving his heart true to its first affection, if true that preference may be called, which, when put to the test, will sacrifice no selfish gratification, no unworthy vanity, to the peace and welfare of its ostensible object. Everything combined with her ladyship's witchery to complete Vernon's mental intoxication. A whirl of dissipation, consequent on the provincial gathering for the Musical Festival, of which Lady Octavia condescended to be the presiding deity, no other high born or fashionable beauty being at hand to dispute her preeminence. The marked favor with which he was publicly distinguished by this goddess, the admired of all eyes-the envy of many, and the general notice and consideration it obtained for him,

and the still more dangerous influence of her seductive sweetness and varied powers of charming, in those frequent tête-à-têtes which she had anticipated with so much sagacious prescience "in antique bay windows and shadowy cloisters"-the perpetual excitement of music, of dancing, of novelty, where all was new to him,-everything conspired, together with Lady Octavia's arts and the weak points of Vernon's character, to complete that intoxication which was at its height about the time (the third week of his stay at Exeter), when, in pursuance of our task as a faithful chronicler, we must resume a more circumstantial detail, though still as brief as may be, of his further progress.

In the miscellaneous assemblage drawn together by the music meeting, Lady Octavia's discriminating survey had found in the male part of it no individual so qualified to do credit to her taste and patronage as the handsome, and interesting, and really elegant Vernon; and so interesting did he become, in the daily increasing intimacy of familiar intercourse; so rapidly developed under her ladyship's fostering encouragement, were his latent capabilities for "better things," as she was pleased to express herself; and to such advantage did he appear among all surrounding competitors, that had the fair Octavia been of those with whom

"Un peu d'amour, un peu de soin, Mene souvent le cœur bien loin," there is no saying how far beyond its original design "le roman d'un jour" might have extended, But her lady ship's heart, not composed in the first instance of very sensitive atoms, had been laid to harden so effectually in the petrifying spring of fashionable education, as to have become proof to

Cupid's best arrow, with the golden head," if not shot from the vantage ground of a broad parchment field, cabalistically endorsed with the word "settlement ;" and having achieved her avowed triumph, by "fooling Vernon to the top of his bent," she began to suspect the pastime had been suffi

ciently prolonged, and that if the delirium she had worked up to a crisis were not timely checked, she might find herself publicly committed, in a way that would not only militate against her own serious views, but probably come to the knowledge of Dr. Hartop, and incur his severe displeasure. Lady Octavia was far too well-bred to give the cut direct to any body, and too "good-hearted" to inflict more than unavoidable mortification on a person, for whom, as she expressed herself to the confidential Jenkins, she should always retain a compassionate interest. But while she was meditating how to "whistle him softly down the wind," Fate stept in to her assistance in the shape of an old acquaintance, who very unexpectedly made his appearance at Exeter with a party of friends, with whom he was on a shooting excursion. Lord George Amersham was one of those persons, who, without being very young, very handsome, very clever, at all wealthy, or in any way marrying man," had, by some necromancy, so established his supremacy in all matters of taste and ton, that his notice was distinction, and his favor fame. No wonder that suffrage so important was briguée by all female aspirants for fashionable ascendency; and Lady Octavia had been so fortunate as to obtain it on her first coming out. The appearance of such a star in the provincial hemisphere, to which she was condemned pro tempore, would at all times have been hailed by the lovely exile as an especial mercy, but "under existing circumstances," (to use the diplomatic phrase,) she esteemed it quite providential, as nothing now could be so easy and so natural as the transfer of her attention from Vernon to her old acquaintance.

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The former was soon made sensible of the change, though at first more surprised and perplexed at it, than aware of the systematic alteration of Lady Octavia's deportment. But his obtuse perceptions were soon to be sufficiently enlightened. A subscrip

tion ball, which was to take place on the second night of Lord George's stay at Exeter, was also to be honored by the presence and patronage of Lady Octavia Falkland and her party, including the noble sportsman and his friends-Vernon as a matter of course-Doctor Hartop as a matter of necessity-and as one of convenience, a deaf and purblind old lady, the relict of a deceased canon, who made herself useful in a twofold capacity -ostensibly as Lady Octavia's chaperon, and veritably as an unwearied sitter-out of (she could not be called a listener to) Dr. Hartop's long stories, and an established member of his select whist set. This party had dined at the Rectory, and Lord George's rank having of course entitled him to conduct Lady Octavia to the eating room, and take his seat beside her, it was equally a matter of course, (the other guests being also men of pretensions, if not of rank,) that the bottom of the table and the deaf old lady, who had been duly marshalled out by the Doctor, should fall to the lot of Vernon, whose proximity to the door, however, secured him the office of holding it open for the ladies when they should pass to the drawing-room. But just at that moment, Lady Octavia, actuated perhaps by some compunctious consciousness that her attentions had been too entirely engrossed during dinner by her neighbors at the upper end of the table, was seized by a fit of such extraordinary cordiality towards the canon's deaf relict, that she passed her fair arm with affectionate familiarity within that of the worthy old lady, and began whispering something in the lappets of her cap, which lasted till they reached the stairfoot, and the dining-room door had closed behind them. Lord George and two of the other gentlemen accompanied Dr. Hartop and the ladies to the ball-room in the Doctor and Mrs. Buzby's carriages. The third walked thither with Vernon, and when they entered the Assembly-room, Lady Octavia was already dancing with one of Lord

George's friends. When her partner, after the set was over, had conducted her to a seat, Vernon drew near, with the hope (expectation it would have been a few nights previous) of engaging her for the next quadrille. But she was still engrossed by her partner, and the others of Lord George's party,-himself having comfortably established himself on the best half of the sofa, of which she occupied a corner, entrenched behind two of the gentlemen, who were conversing with her; so that Vernon could only proffer his request, by speaking it across Lord George, so audibly, as to make him color at the sound of his own voice, with a painful consciousness of awkward embarrassment, which was not diminished by perceiving that his words were wasted" on the desert air," at least that they had only drawn on him a grave stare from Lord George, and the eyes of many_surrounding loungers, though the Lady Octavia's were perversely fixed in an opposite direction, and she appeared perfectly unconscious, not only of his address, but of his vicinity. Just then a space was cleared for waltzing-the magic sounds set twenty pairs of tetotums in rotatory motion, and Lord George, who never danced,” languidly, and with apparent effort, roused himself from his recumbent posture, and, to the no small amazement of Vernon's unsophisticated mind, without addressing a word to Lady Octavia, or farther ascertaining her consent, than by passing one arm round her slender waist as she arose from the sofa, whirled her off, seemingly "nothing loath," into the giddy circle. Vernon was suddenly sensible of a vehement longing to breathe the fresh air, and contemplate the beautiful moonshine. We cannot exactly pronounce how long he indulged in solitary meditation; but when he reëntered the ball-room, the waltz was over-an after set of quadrilles just finished, and the dancers were crowding about the refreshment tables.

Vernon mechanically mingled with the throng, and in a few minutes

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