684 A Story of the Heart. 



" Your feelings are perhaps peculiar to you," he returned, somewhat 

 coldly, " you are very suspicious to-night." 



" I hope not," she replied meekly, " but you are tired, we will have 

 some refreshment, and tune the harp : you were always fond of that." 



The refreshments were brought, she helped him with her own hands ; 

 but when she turned to the instrument,, the full and surcharged eyes 

 the flushed face the heaving of the bosom the trembling speech the 

 look wandering to and fro on the face of her lover, too plainly indicated 

 that she had perceived something more or less than usual in the manner 

 of his address. She seemed to Delacour, as she touched the strings, to 

 have the finest figure in the world, and indeed her soul was on the chords. 

 She felt that she needed some other person to make all he had once been 

 to her -j she was a gentle and excellent girl, and Delacour, who was an 

 admirer of all excellence, was quickly won to her side. She had never 

 played with such execution, and now attentive, and now wavering, he 

 listened, and was now impassioned and now cold as ever and now he 

 dreamed himself back to all his former adoration of her. At length he 

 snatched a kiss said something of forgiveness, and all was forgotten j 

 but another hour was over he was silent and more cold than death, at 

 least, to the heart of Emily. It was now getting late, and he declined, on 

 plea of business, staying the night, which was his usual custom. She 

 sunk into silence and despondency. 



" You are sad, Miss Sidney," said he, " or angry, but my Emily used 

 not to be either." " I am sad," she murmured, " but not angry you 

 are full of mistakes to-night." She smiled faintly. 



" I am surely not mistaken," he returned, " not a word has been 

 spoken this half hour; but some people mistake temper for feeling." 



" Excuse me," she cried, and as she was seated by his side, she placed 

 her hand gently upon his shoulder : " you do not understand me ; there is 

 no temper in me but sorrow. I am not angry," but he arose and hinted 

 that he must depart. 



" Good night, Miss Sidney," said he, " good night, Emily, we shall 

 meet to-morrow." 



His hand was upon the door- she looked up blushed and advanced 

 towards him. " I am not angry," she added, " you mistake me. Let us 

 be friends." The last gush of feeling burst from his heart and he caught 

 her in his arms. A scarcely audible, " God bless you," came from his 

 lips an instant and he was gone. 



In her bosom was left sorrow and anguish and repining -, the red 

 blush was on her brow, but she sighed not, neither did she weep. The 

 next day she received an apology for not waiting on her, as his business 

 was urgent, but a promise so to do as quickly as possible. But day 

 after day past on, and he came not, she watched in vain. It was late 

 one evening, she thought she saw him leaning as usual against the garden 

 gate. She went to the window, but it was delusion, she looked more 

 intently, answered incoherently some questions addressed to her, and fell 

 senseless to the ground. 



Let us pass over the rest. It has been said that the father waited on 

 Delacour, but all that could be elicited was, that his views were changed, 

 his mind, but not his affections, altered. With these words he left him : 

 " Young man," said he, " may the sorrows of this young creature fall a 

 hundred fold on your head !" 



