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“ To a degree ! could you then measure love so exactly? You ! so young, so enthusiastic, and so sincere!”

Eugenia did not notice, or perhaps did not understand Tremaine's, quibble on her girlish expression of “to a degree,” but proceeded :-“I have told my mother, who questioned me on this subject, that my heart is now so full of my friend, that I have forgotten, ah! for ever forgotten, my former childish attachment."

At these words she turned a pair of soft blue eyes, filled with tears, on Tremaine,—who, though he felt much penetrated, was also evidently much troubled.

“ You are agitated, Miss Belson !"

66 Miss Belson ! oh, heavens! I have lost your kindness!”

6 Not so ! But give me leave to ask, did Captain Monson know of this love of your's to a degree ?

“ He did,” said Eugenia, with fresh agitation at the gravity of Tremaine's manner.

“ And has any thing lately passed, that your mother questioned you?"

“* Alas! yes! He has succeeded to much property, and is coming here; but it will be of no use."

“. And why not?” asked Tremaine, evidently softened, yet with a distance of tone he could not prevent.

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“Ah, cruel friend ! you know, yet are displeased;” and her agitation became so great, that she covered her face with her hands, and sobbed aloud.

• My dear Eugenia,” said Tremaine, quite brought round, let us not afflict each other; if this

young soldier” “ 'Oh! I do not ! Every thing is broken off, and you have taught me what alone I can love. not be your’s, but pever shall I be found the wife of

3:11 Turn it will og lilisusta Monson.” Ah! if it were so !” exclaimed Tremaine, some

TLD). Unit, UT LI what off his guard; and then bursting from her, he retreated to his inn, where he shut himself up for the

inheit! CITY 11.11.! rest of the evening.

He passed it in the most cruel state of anxiety; a cup filled with Nepenthe seemed dashed from his lips; the virgin heart which had appeared ready to bless him, was no longer virgin. The image of another was, or at least might be mingled with his; and this child of nature was not so much a child, but that she could take exact measure of the affection she bore to different people.

“ Well ! and why not?” said he, recovering a little from the agony he had been in—“'Tis true her heart is not absolutely maiden; but what heart at seventeen has not been touched by love? And her honesty is at least unimpaired; it has even shone

would suppose

out the more for this questioning. And why am I not to believe myself preferred? A friend, supposed to be tied up by engagement, is preferred to the free and offered lover!”

The thought pleased.

The night brought a strange, though generous resolution.

It was strange ; because if Monson was coming to address her, one would nothing short of madness could induce Tremaine voluntarily to place himself on such unequal terms with his rival, as would be the effect of his persisting in the representation he had made of his engagement. It was generous, because he thought it but right that Eugenia should have full play for her heart, and see this lover again, unshackled by pledge or engagement. For his pride was most essentially concerned, that the professions which had blessed him should not be the effect of a momentary enthusiasm, but the result of free choice, and with the objects of choice fairly before her. In short, he did not choose to owe his success to the absence of his rival.

His resolution, however, fell into the opposite extreme; for he decided upon his own absence, which certainly was not demanded, even by his own principles. He resolved to quit the field for a time, and leave all free to the exertions of Captain Monson; in which, we are compelled to own, that there was

neither common sense, nor, to himself, common justice.

He resolved then to depart, without releasing himself, even with Mrs. Belson, from the self-imposed disadvantage, that he was to be considered still as a man not free: nor did the altered manner of that lady tend to shake his resolution; though the tears of Eugenia-amounting to a passion of grief-put his firmness to a much severer trial.



“ Was this the idol that you worship so ?”


TREMAINE took the road to Limoges, and had scarcely proceeded a mile, before he met a young man, attended by a servant, riding à franc étrier, who by his air and costume was English, and whom he rightly judged to be Monson. He surveyed him with interest, as Monson himself stopped to inquire the road to Valence; which Tremaine politely

shewed him: pointing out the very smoke of Mrs. Belson's chimnies on the other side of the valley.

There was an intelligent soldier-like air about this young man, but nothing which in Tremaine's thoughts ought to excite his fear, with even all the aid which he had so strangely afforded him against himself. “ It will be curious, however,” said he, “ if I have shewn my rival the very road which he may be taking to ruin me.”

From Limoges, where he joined his suite, after above two months' absence, he wrote to Mrs. Belson and Eugenia, announcing his safe arrival, and in express terms asking leave to correspond with his youthful friend.

He received answers from both. Eugenia's was sufficiently characteristic, and partly satisfied him; for it made no mention whatever of Monson, and spoke tenderly of himself. It was remarkable, however, that she made no mention of his request to correspond with her.

Mrs. Belson's letter was more collected, and certainly more cool. She said she had allowed Eugenia to answer him, but earnestly hoped it would be the last letter he might receive from her.

“ The more I think,” said she, “ of your want of freedom, and your duty to your relative, the more I regret our late intimacy. Had you been free, you know how agreeable you were to us; but because we

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