LIONEL LACKLAND. 231 



offering of the heart, unadulterated with a tincture of the selfish- 

 ness of manhood. But however blind Mr. Westberry might be, 

 his accepted son looked on me with an eye darkened by sus- 

 picion ; and if he affected to despise, he was still weak enough 

 to fear me. With all the jealousy of a boy, I beheld Stratton 

 with hatred and alarm : his audacity intimidated me — his self- 

 confidence subdued me ; I crept about the fields like a proscribed 

 man. I looked darkly and suspiciously on Ellen, nor did her 

 tears awaken my confidence. Stratton persecuted me in every 

 possible way ; my slight and pliant body was so infinitely weaker 

 than his, that he felt secure from retaliation ; he loaded me with 

 the bitterest taunts, insulted me ; scorned me — oh God! I could 

 have died to have buried my hand in his heart's blood, and tugged 

 it hot and palpitating from his dastard breast; but I bore it — 

 silently, tearlessly, un revenged — but 



To the demands of her father, Ellen was so habitually com- 

 pliant, so submissive and gentle, that he never anticipated a 

 contradiction, or even an aversion, to any of his plans. Mr. 

 Westberry was constitutionally cold, and those affections which 

 he exhibited in his youth seemed to have died with the object of 

 their elicitation; he loved his daughter, all his thoughts and 

 schemes tended towards her; he wished to make her happy, but 

 then her happiness must proceed from himself; her own election 

 was a thing never anticipated ; and, therefore, when she, for the 

 first time in her life, opposed a measure so desirable in his own 

 settled judgment, he felt surprised and hurt at the novel event, 

 and, like a true autocrat, determined at once to sacrifice every 

 thing to his prerogative. Ellen heard her father with meekness 

 and sorrow ; but as he grew violent and resolved to enforce the 

 marriage, she became bold, and in spite of entreaty and rebuke, 

 pleaded the sacrifice as too great; she could not, would not, 

 perjure her soul before the altar of Him who abhorred a broken 

 vow. Her father contended in vain; the more Stratton im- 

 portuned her the more she scorned and hated him ; he listened 

 to the avowal of her disgust, and still the insensible wretch paid 

 his loathsome suit to her in beastly apathy. A year had nearly 

 rolled away, and still Ellen was as firm and resolved, her father 

 as bitter and merciless. Stratton visited her daily, and was daily 

 repulsed. 



It was on an evening in May, after having seen Stratton, who 

 left her highly incensed, and swearing the bitterest curses, Ellen 

 met me at a spot called " Tachen Glaz," or the Green Place, 

 where we had idled in sweet looks through many an hour ; a iew 

 old monumental stones raised their grey heads above the long 

 luxuriant grass, surrounded by the clustering branches of vener- 

 able trees, forming a circle round this grass-grown temple. Here 

 we met ; we sat together upon the little velvet mound, under the 

 " shade of melancholy boughs." We spoke not : as I gazed on 

 her pensive features, I was alarmed at the change; her face was 



May, 1835. — vol. ii. no. x. 2 h 



