tears exclaiming, in true bitterness of soul, Mary, my friend, my only friend, surely there will need no lesson after this to teach me that I am poor, and blind, and miserable!" The pressure of a gentle hand upon her arm called back her wandering thoughts; called back the colour to her pale cheeks, and to her heart the warm glow of life and hope; for it was Frederic Langley who stood beside her. "I thought you were all gone," said the poor girl, as soon as the hurry and confusion of her feelings allowed her to speak. "Why did you not leave me ?" "I answer in the words of your favourite poet, Why, all have left thee:' and though he has wisely and justly given this simple and touching expression to the lips of woman, yet, trust me, there are men, who can be faithful, and kind, when women are heartless and cruel." "I do trust you," said Anna, with warmth. "I was just saying, I had but one friend in the world; but you have been more to me than a friend." "Say a brother, if you please Anna, and then we shall be at ease with each other; but let us have a fire, and shut out this cold wind, and make our prison as comfortable as we can. You are not so very ill, I hope and trust, but that we shall be able to meet our party at Edinburgh in the course of a few days." He then explained how he had taken his horse early in the morning, and ridden out under pretence of calling upon a college acquaintance who was then shooting in the Highlands, leaving a message for his sister, that if he found his friend at home, he should probably not join them again before they reached the city, which he hoped they would do by the end of the following week. How vain are the struggles of the most determined will against the encroachment of disease! Anna Clare would at this time have given worlds, had she possessed them, to shake off the weariness, the langour, and all other symptoms of approaching illness, that were rapidly stealing upon her. For a short time her spirits rallied, for the presence of Frederick was a great stimulus; but it needed both his support, and that of the nurse, to enable her to regain her little comfortless chamber, where she was doomed to spend many wearisome days of sickness and sorrow, varied only by intervals of stupor and delirium,-days that were counted by Frederick with the anxiety, if not exactly with the affection of a brother. The fever at length abated; and Anna, feeble as a child, once more looked out upon the hills, and the purple heath, now bright in the sunshine of a cloudless autumn day. The time was fast approaching for Julia and her party to be at Edinburgh on their way home. The time was fast approaching, and yet Anna was so weak, it would have been madness to attempt the journey. No expence or trouble would have been spared by Frederick which might enable him to attain his object, and place his poor friend again under the protection of his sister before they reached home; for, pleasant as it might be to linger amongst the hills, with this beautiful young creature, he felt that upon this crisis depended her good name with his family at least, if not with her own. Could they join their party in time, she might be helped forward by easy stages, and her own appearance would sufficiently justify the story of her illness; but if she remained alone with him, what story could he make sufficiently plausible to satisfy the enquiries of the uncharitable, and the scruples of the envious? At this juncture a letter arrived from Julia. Frederick was alone, and eagerly tore open the seal. It had been detained upon the road, and now told the sad tidings, that the fair writer and her friends would leave Edinburgh on that very day, having waited for Frederick as long as their patience would allow. "It is all over," said he, throwing the open letter upon the table. "It is all over, and we must make the best of it." It was past midnight when he awoke from self, "Your Christian Friend, his reverie. He was sitting with his feet transgressions, I venture to subscribe myupon the bars of a little grate that contained the expiring embers of a turf fire. "No, no," said he, starting from his seat, and snatching up the candle, now burnt down into the socket. "Her protector I must be, but no more; and for this reason I will see her as little as possible." So saying he retired to rest, with that solid satisfaction of heart, which the applause of the world cannot give, nor the venom of its envious tongue destroy. His time was now spent chiefly in shooting, and Anna being unable to amuse herself with her usual pursuits, felt hers hang heavily upon her hands. CHAPTER VI. Ir was on one of these long and lonely days, that a letter was brought to the invalid, sealed with the crest of the Langleys, and directed by a female hand. Her own trembled as she opened it, and read as follows. "Miss Clare will probably be surprised that I should have taken the trouble to address a person in her situation; but regard to myself, and my family will no longer permit me to be silent. From my sister and her friends I have learned all the particulars of your strange conduct; and can only wonder that we have not been more sensible of the deep and wicked artifice by which you endeavoured to seduce the affections of our beloved brother;-too prone, alas! to fall into the snares of Satan. With regard to the future, my object in writing, is to request or rather to insist, that you will never make any other claim upon our family, of any kind whatsoever, resting assured, that such claims would be rejected with contempt, if not punished by the law. "Wishing you may experience a sincere and heartfelt repentance for all your "P.S. My sister does not know of my writing. She is extremely sorry on your account, and can with difficulty be persuaded that you have been so very artful and depraved. Lord B.-alone has had the good sense to discover, and the sincerity to speak the truth. "You will do well to burn this, and say nothing to my infatuated brother." Poor Anna! she read the letter again, and again, turning it backwards and forwards, and looking alternately at the direction, and the contents, to assure herself of the reality. Her senses had been stupified by long illness; and it seemed almost impossible for her to comprehend the whole truth. No tears came to her relief. A siogle kind word would have brought them in torrents. One exclamation at last burst from her lips. "Oh! Mary, you warned me of insult and neglect, but you never warned me of any thing half so horrible as this!" When Frederick Langley returned that night, the invalid was still sitting in the little parlour, her cheeks flushed with burning crimson, and her eye bright and wandering. Shocked by the wildness of her looks, and her unconnected and hurried answers to his simple questions, he asked the nurse if any thing particular had occurred during his absence; and she told him that a letter had arrived about noon, and that since then she had not been able to persuade the young lady to take the least thing, nor even to move from her chair. Frederick returned, and seating himself beside Anna, took her feverish and burning hand, while, in a firm and determined manner, he began to question her about wha! had passed. "Circumstances," said he, "over which we have no controul, have placed us in a strange and difficult situation. To be your protector has become my duty, as it would at any time have been my pleasure; but in order that I may serve you entirely, it is necessary, that with me you should have no reserve. I therefore call upon you as a friend, and one who is entitled to make such a demand, to tell me what has distressed you." Anna made no reply; but the quivering of her pale lips gave sufficient evidence of her internal struggle. At last she drew forth the letter, and opening it with trembling fingers, placed it in Frederick's hand. Rage and indignation gathered on his brow, while his eye glanced rapidly over its contents. His mind had been prepared for such an attack, and he had no need to read it twice; but tearing the letter into a thousand pieces, he thrust them through the bars of the grate, and spoke not till every atom was consumed. "There," said he, "is an end to this specimen of my sister's hypocrisy and malice, and I wish we could say the same of all the mischief it has done. But do not mind it, my good girl; you have done nothing that is wrong in the sight of heaven. Your heart is as pure as the snows of these mountains; and they shall be compelled to acknowledge it." With the consciousness of her own innocence, Anna tried to comfort herself, and in some measure she was comforted; but how to return was the question that perplexed them both. It was strange, that in this critical juncture, the principle of evil, ever ready to furnish ways and means, did not suggest to Frederick, that now, when Anna's reputation had received so severe a blow, it would be requiring comparatively but a small sacrifice, to ask her to remain with him, or to consent to seek with him, some more genial climate, where her health and happiness might be restored. To say that he did not think of it, would be much to venture upon any of his sex, in a similar situation; but Frederick Langley was an honourable man, and spurned the idea of taking an unfair advantage, especially of a woman. Be sides, he did not yet know the strong impression made upon his own affections; nor how often, after his return to college, the fair image of Anna Clare would present itself; first, animated, brilliant, and gay, as he had seen her at her father's house; then, feeble, helpless, but still beautiful, as she now sat before him, writing at intervals, as she could bear the fatigue of writing to her friend, Mary Newton. And wonder not, gentle reader, that the short and incoherent letter which follows, should have cost the poor writer the greatest possible fatigue, both of body and mind; so humbling are the consequences of illness;-so incomprehensible the construction of the human frame. "DEAR MARY, "When I last wrote to you, I was happy. Happy in the contemplation of all that could delight me,—the clear skies, the mountains, and the streams; and now, if I write of mountains, it will be of the mountains of grief that are upon my heart; if of streams, it will be the streams that flow from my eyes. I have fallen into great trouble since my illness. I am still very weak, and my hand trembles so, that you will not believe this to be my writing; but indeed Mary, it is the writing of your own friend-your friend, who is now humbled in the dust. Yet do not mistake me, I am guiltless in the sight of heaven; and only wish I could feel my innocence to be a greater consolation. Frederick Langley has been to me-but I will tell you when we meet, how kind, how delicate, how generous his whole conduct has been: and you, I know, will believe it; for whatever my faults may have been, I never was guilty of deceiving you. In the mean time, I entreat you to think kindly of me, and to try to make my father and yours think so too; for indeed Mary it was illness, and not inclination, that kept me here. Pray for me, dear Mary, for I am weak, both in body and mind; and these cruel Langleys will trample me into the grave." Before Anna's letter reached its destina tion, rumour had been busy in her native village. That the tourists had returned without her, and that Frederick too was left behind, became the subject of general remark. Some said they had gone round by Gretna Green; and some that they had gone off to Italy. All wondered, and many took to themselves credit, for having predicted the consequences; though still ignorant what these consequences were. Whether it was the insinuations thrown out against his daughter, which at this time particularly affected William Clare, was difficult to know; for he was a man of few words: but all remarked that he was altered; and when Mary spoke of it to her father, he shook his head and looked grave, and said some mysterious words about his affairs; which led her to suspect that all was not going well with his worldly concerns. Indeed, he had never been a money-making man. Quiet and unpretending in his own habits, he had indulged his daughter in every gratification which his humble means could afford. And now, when that daughter became the "theme of gossips' story,"-when the whispers of those who delight to carry evil tidings, told of her folly and hinted at her disgrace; it fell with inexpressible poignancy upon the anxious heart of the doating parent. Mary tried to comfort him; but, though she fully convinced him of the falsehood of the reports, and that his darling child would return to him as innocent as ever, with additional claims upon their love, from her illness and suffering; still the many tongued monster would make itself heard, and he could not be comforted. Those who have never heard a name beloved, coupled with sin and shame, and trembled lest it might be justly too, have never tasted the true bitterness of the cup of misery. All other draughts may be sweetened; but this is beyond the power of flattery, for it does not reach the object-of hope, for the blackness of desolation has already fallen upon our Goshen-and of religion, for the more we love God, and delight in the beauty of holiness, the more we linger after the stray sheep, and lament that the gates of paradise should be closed upon the lost one. Mary went every day to the house of William Clare, to see that he fared comfortably, and that every thing was done to make his solitary evenings pass as pleasantly as circumstances would allow; for the days were now fast shortening, and the old man came in to his lonely fire, shivering with the sharp winds of autumn. she It was on one of these evenings when Mary had staid with him later than usual, for they had fallen into a long and earnest conversation about Anna, that a carriage drove up to the door, and Anna herself rushed into her father's arms. But, oh! how unlike the rosy girl, with whom they had so lately parted. When the first joy of welcome was over, sunk into a chair, pale, and exhausted, and burst into tears. Mary wept too, and the father; but his were not tears of sorrow, for now he believed that Anna had come back the same innocent and guileless creature she had left them. True, she was sadly altered; but this was not the alteration he had feared. Yes, she was sadly changed; but then she had looked up to him again and again, with her clear bright eyes, in which there was no cloud, nor the least shadow of shame-and his heart was at rest. Mary could not leave them; and they sat together that evening, the father, and the daughter, and the friend, united in fresh bonds. The old man spoke seldom. Mary busied herself with those little attentions which tell more of welcome than the kindest words, and that gentle and beautiful young creature looked alternately at her father and her friend, with smiles that betrayed how her poor heart had been yearning for their love. To the good management of Frederick Langley, the invalid owed every thing. He had travelled with her in company with the old nurse, until they reached the last stage, and then, leaving them to pursue their journey with the confidence that they could meet with no further difficulty, he proceeded to Cambridge, to recommence his studies, and to forget, if possible, the fair image of Anna Clare. To the three friends who were re-united, (Mary hoped to separate no more,) the first days of returning confidence were days of happiness; as the first taste of the cup of duty, is often sweet and pleasant to willing lips. It is the second, and the third, that contain the drops of bitterness. It is the after-trial that proves the spirit; for the heart is deceitful, and after many fair promises, will return to its idols, again and again like the rebellious children of Israel. CHAPTER VII. opulent neighbours, provided only their residence be in the country; for there the skies form a canopy more splendid than the hand of the great father of painting itself could produce. In the ever varying tints of the foliage, they have tapestry of the richest and most brilliant hues; and what loom can furnish a carpet like the green turf beneath their feet? But when winter comes, the stern aspect of poverty presents itself in undeniable gloom. Around one fire the whole family must gather in; young, and old; boisterous, and quiet; barbarous, and civilized, must sit down together; and then if there should happen to be one aspiring spirit amongst the number, which has soared upon the wings of fancy to a higher realm of thought and feeling-alas! what a fate is hers! Anna Clare felt all the distinctions of riches and poverty, more powerfully than words can describe; and though she was spared the misery of contending with coarse and uncongenial minds, she found that one sim MARY could not always be with her friend; and now the season was fast approaching, when household comforts are most valued, and household troubles most deplored-the dark days, and the cold rains of November.ple duty, of being cheerful, which she owed The flowers and the plants, which had grown both to her father and herself, indescribably around the window of Anna's little parlour, irksome. weaving themselves into garlands of beauty, were all withered and beaten down. Pools of water stood upon the gravel walks, and when the door was opened the angry tempest rushed in, and Anna and her father were both feeble, and little able to contend with storms of any kind. There are those who shut themselves up in retirement, thinking that danger exists only in the pleasures of the world, and safety in their exclusion. But let them look well to the choice they have made, and ask, whether the evils of solitude may not be as offensive in the sight of their Creator as those of society. For themselves, they have an undoubted right, both to know, and to choose, what is best; but there are hearts that can bear witness to the sins of solitude; to the sins, and the sufferings too. Hearts, that have been weighed down with the leaden stupor of melancholy, until every affection was swallowed up in self, every feeling lost in the ocean of misery, from whence no gentle dew is exhaled, as an offering of gratitude to heaven. This winter would indeed have been a long and heavy season to Anna Clare, had she not been able to resume her favourite amusement; to which she returned with her wont |