writing to me, if you had not encouraged hi to do so, and I must now"-" You will allow me to remind you, Madam," said Emily timidly, "of some particulars of a conversation we had at La Vallée. I then told you truly, that I had only not forbade Monsieur Valancourt from addressing my family."

"I will not be interrupted," said Madame Cheron, interrupting her niece, "I was going to say-I-I-have forgot what I was going to say. But how happened it that you did not forbid him?" Emily was silent. "How happened it that you encouraged him to trouble me with this letter?-A young man that nobody knows;-an utter stranger in the place-a young adventurer, no doubt, who is looking out for a good fortune: however, on that point he has mistaken his aim."

"His family was known to my father," said Emily modestly, and without appearing to be sensible of the last sentence.

"Oh! that is no recommendation at all," replied her aunt, with her usual readiness upon this topic;" he took such strange fancies to people! He was always judging persons by their countenances, and was continually deceived.". "Yet it was but just now, Madam, that you judged me guilty by my countenance," said Emily, with a design of reproving Madame

Cheron, to which she was induced by this disrespectful mention of her father.

"I called you here," resumed her aunt, coloring," to tell you, that I will not be disturbed in my own house by any letters or visits from young men, who may take a fancy to flatter you. This M. de Valentine-I think you call him-has the impertinence to beg I will permit him to pay his respects to me! I shall send him a proper answer. And for you Emily, I repeat it once for all-if you are not contented to conform to my directions, and to my way of life, I shall give up the task of overlooking your conduct-I shall no longer trouble myself with your education, but shall send you to board in a convent."

"Dear Madam," said Emily, bursting inte tears, and overcome by the rude suspicions her aunt had expressed, "how have I deserved these reproofs ?" She could say no more and so very fearful was she of acting with any degree of impropriety in the affair itself, that, at the present moment, Madame Cheron might perhaps have prevailed with her to bind herself by promise to renounce Valancourt for ever. Her mind, weakened by her terrors, would no longer suffer her to view him as she had formerly done; she feared the error of her own judgment, not that of Madame Cheron, and

feared also, that in her former conversation with him, at La Vallée, she had not conducted herself with sufficient reserve. She knew that she did not deserve the coarse suspicions which her aunt had thrown out, but a thousand scruples rose to torment her, such as would never have disturbed the peace of Madame Cheron. Thus rendered anxious to avoid every opportunity of erring, and willing to submit to any restrictions that her aunt should think proper, she expressed an obedience to which Madame Cheron did not give much confidence, and which she seemed to consider as the consequence of either fear or artifice.

"Well then," said she, "promise me that you will neither see this young man nor write to him without my consent."-"Dear Madam," replied Emily," can you suppose I would do either, unknown to you!"-"I don't know what to suppose; there is no knowing how young women will act: it is difficult to place any confidence in them, for they have seldom sense enough to wish for the respect of the world." Alas, Madam!" said Emily, "I am anxious for my own respect; my father taught me the value of that; he said if I deserved my own esteem, that of the world would follow of

66

course.'

66

My brother was a good kind of a man,"

replied Madame Cheron, "but he did not know the world. I am sure I have always felt a proper respect for myself, yet-" She stopped, but she might have added, that the world had not always shown respect to her, and this without impeaching its judgment.

"Well!" resumed Madame Cheron, " you have not given me the promise, though, that I demand." Emily readily gave it; and being then suffered to withdraw, she walked in the garden, tried to compose her spirits, and at length arrived at her favorite pavilion at the end of the terrace; where, seating herself at one of the embowered windows that opened upon a balcony, the stillness and seclusion of the scene allowed her to recollect her thoughts, and to arrange them so as to form a clearer judgment of her former conduct. She endeavoured to review with exactness all the particulars of her conversation with Valancourt at La Vallée, had the satisfaction to observé nothing that could alarm her delicate pride, and thus to be confirmed in the self-esteem which was so necessary to her peace. Her mind then became tranquil, and she saw Valancourt amiable and intelligent as he had formerly appeared, and Madame Cheron neither the one nor the other. The remembrance of her lover, however, brought with it many very painful emotions, for it by no means reconciled her to the thought

of resigning him; and, Madame Cheron having already shown how highly she disapproved of the attachment, she foresaw much suffering from the opposition of interests; yet with all this was mingled a degree of delight, which in spite of reason partook of hope: she determined, however, that no consideration should induce her to permit a clandestine correspondence, and to observe in her conversation with Valancourt, should they ever meet again, the same nicety of reserve which had hitherto marked her conduct. As she repeated the words "should we ever meet again!" she shrunk, as if this was a eircumstance which had never before occurred to her, and tears came to her eyes, which she hastily dried, for she heard footsteps approaching, and then the door of the pavilion open, and on turning she saw-Valancourt. An emotion of mingled pleasure, surprise, and apprehension, pressed so suddenly upon her heart as almost to overcome her spirits; the color left her checks, then returned brighter than before, and she was for a moment unable to speak, or to rise from her ehair. His countenance was the mirror in which she saw her own emotions reflected, and it roused her to self-command. The joy, which had animated his features when he entered the pavilion, was suddenly repressed, as approaching he perceived her agitation, and in a tremulous voice