CHAPTER XI.

The graceful tear that's shed for other's woe.

MATILDA did not often retire to the privacy of her own room, without devoting some portion of time to the serious consideration of all that had passed within and around her. She usually enlivened the natural cheerfulness of her own mind by a remembrance of what had pleased her taste or amused her fancy, but, above all, she carefully recalled every thing that might enlighten her understanding or improve her heart; and on the present occasion, when she stirred the fire, and sat down in solitude to ruminate over the days which had elapsed since she last occupied that apartment, a variety of thoughts and emotions crowded into her mind. Mr Armstrong's language and conduct had, during their earliest acquaintance, excited her distrust, as she saw that, from personal pique on his own part, he wished in some way to make her a tool for his revenge. She greatly doubted whether his power was equal to his inclination in working the mischief he threatened against Eleanor; and though she perfectly understood his insinuations on the subject, no possible way occurred to her imagination which could give them the slightest probability. Not a thought could be wasted for one moment on the idea of purchasing his secret, if he had one; and being more than half-con

vinced that his hints were about as unfounded as the promised discoveries of the celebrated Mr Ady, she dismissed them all at once from her recollection.

Matilda's next reflections were directed with a smile of irresistible derision to the remembrance of her own surprise and mortification at discovering the entire oblivion to which Mr Grant seemed to have consigned their former intimacy; and she readily acknowledged that it ought to have been anticipated in one whose acquaintance was so universal, who formed intimacies every day, and might forget them as easily, and whose notions of friendship perhaps resembled those of B ***** L, when he once remarked, that if he lost a friend he had only to walk down St James' Street and take another.

There remained but one subject which Matilda's young and inexperienced mind was unwilling to approach, even in the silence and solitude of her secret retirement, and which she postponed to the very last, because it filled her with confusion and perplexity. To a well-regulated disposition like hers, the earliest dawn of a sentiment till then unknown, and of which the depth and the influence had been as yet unfelt, must ever excite a salutary apprehension that the heart may lose that harmony and cheerfulness which have hitherto been its most precious ornaments; and therefore Matilda, with all the powers of reason and reflection, long struggled against the conviction which formerly forced itself upon her mind, that she was an object of peculiar interest to Sir Alfred Douglas. In the secure foundation, and the simple structure of her happiness, love had seemed like a rich decoration, which embellished the existence of others, but which could never be meant for her, and feelings which might hereafter be the blessing or the misery of

her whole earthly existence, must be cautiously enter. tained, lest her future life should be deservedly embittered by remorse, as well as by disappointment. Delicacy and prudence prohibited her from thinking of any man as a lover, until he gave ample reason to believe that the sentiment originated with himself; but though her affections were not to be won unsought, there had been much in the manner of Sir Alfred once to warrant her belief in his attachment. Attentions, which in an ordinary person might have been scarcely remarkable, became conspicuous from him, on account of his singular reserve to other ladies; and he possessed a peculiar tact, by which his most trifling actions acquired meaning and expression, as if they intimated that he cared not to be understood or regarded by any one but herself. His voice had always, latterly, assumed a different tone, in speaking to her, from that with which he addressed another; his manner then testified that sensibility which he concealed from every one else, and his conversation had been frequently filled with a recollection of her favourite expressions and opinions, which seemed to be treasured up in his mind with a degree of interest and pleasure such as he appeared ashamed himself to acknowledge. There was nothing in all this which pledged his honour, and Matilda might have succeeded in persuading herself, as she resolutely attempted to do; that he merely preferred her society on account of the transient amusement it afforded him; but Sir Francis Howard by no means inclined to take that view of the subject. He constantly rallied his daughter about the crest of the Bloody Heart and the return of the Black Douglas, thus keeping up recollections which her own good sense would, if possible,

have banished entirely, for hers was not a mind which could long be contented to dwell in the fool's paradise of imaginary happiness.

Matilda had been frequently warned, that it is customary, in the present day, among many gentlemen, along with the most marked attention, to make such enigmatical speeches to young ladies as may either mean a profession of attachment or a declaration of indifference, according as they are understood. She had sometimes even laughed at instances which were related to her of the ingenuity with which this can be done, but yet she became aware, that in all cases of unhappy self-deception, however justified by circumstances, the lady must bear the blame as well as the sorrow. Many of her own friends had been fatally deceived into a permanent loss of happiness by putting the construction which seemed to be intended upon such treacherous expressions and equivocal conduct; but though Matilda did not imagine Sir Alfred Douglas to be capable of the vanity and selfishness which must prevail over honour and conscience in all who would seek an attachment which they meant not to return, she felt fully impressed with the probability, from his so suddenly retiring, after the first impulse of surprise at perceiving her, that whatever his preference might once have been, it was now, perhaps, extinguished and forgotten, while she acquitted herself from having been misled entirely by vanity, as Sir Francis had made the same mistake with herself, if indeed it was one. Matilda could not but at this moment reflect upon an incident which deeply impressed her own mind two years before with a consciousness of the danger there may be in implicitly trusting to any such accidental attentions as are met with frequently in society. Walking one day along

Queen Street with her friend, Miss Adelaide Montague, who was then not much older than herself, they accidentally saw Colonel Pendarvis riding past on horseback; but immediately on observing them, he reined in his beautiful steed, and rode up. It was Adelaide's first winter, during which she had been a reigning beauty of the season, and the Colonel's assiduities were so conspicuous and incessant, that every tea-table in Edinburgh settled, without delay, exactly how much a-year he had, or expected to have, as well as the day when his marriage was certainly to take place. On the morning which Matilda now remembered, Adelaide's eyes sparkled with animation at this unexpected rencontre, and the handsome Colonel spoke in a tone full of vivacity and pleasure.

"Miss Montague! quite delighted to see you! What a charming day! I am in perfect despair! Our marching orders are come for to-morrow, and I go with the first detachment. We are all breaking our hearts, I assure you! But one consolation is, that the headquarters are to be at Brighton! Any thing rather than Ireland! A propos, you will be diverted to hear that our spare major is fairly caught by your friend, Miss Wentworth. I'm afraid it's a lost case. Good morning! My best regards to Lady Montague and your sister."

When Adelaide had acted over all the surprise and indifference which were suitable to the occasion, she took a smiling farewell of the lively Colonel, and hastened on. Matilda felt her companion's arm weigh more heavily upon hers as they proceeded, while the few remarks she made remained unanswered, till at last she stole one single glance at Adelaide's face, and saw the consuming anguish which was painted there. Miss