CHAPTER IV.

EARLY next morning, Vincent, without the knowledge of Brown, paid a visit to Tyrrel, and, contrary to his expectations, found him alive, but so ill that little hopes were entertained of his recovery. His faithful nurse Emma was seated by his side, and, when Charles entered the apartment, she rose and modestly expressed her gratitude for his kind attention to her poor father. With tears in her eyes, she stated that her parent had passed a very uncomfortable night, part of which he had been delirious, making use of language that had impressed itself strongly in her mind, and rendered her very unhappy.

Tyrrel was awake, but took no notice of the visiter, nor did he make a reply when asked whether he desired anything to be done for him. Finding that he could be of little or no service to the invalid, and thinking that the presence of a stranger might be rather a detriment than otherwise, to a man so much indisposed, Vincent, after a little conversation with Emma, withdrew. He left with her a sum of money sufficient to supply their wants during his absence from town, and assured her that, in the event of her father's death, she would not be destitute of means of living, or of the protection of a respectable

guardian. She looked much surprised at this communication, but did not ask for an explanation.

Emma Tyrrel made a deep impression upon Vincent. Her education had evidently been well attended to, for her manners were gentle and graceful, and her language scrupulously correct. She was, as we have observed, about sixteen years of age, rather tall and slender, her complexion good, and her hair, parted smoothly on her high forehead, was black and glossy. Vincent had no opportunity to converse much with this beautiful young creature, but the little he had heard her say, together with the propriety of her deportment, gave him a favourable opinion of her mind. The circumstance of her being the daughter of such a man as Tyrrel, and the occupant of a dwelling so filthy and mean, was to him a subject of regret; but he felt a high degree of pleasure in the reflection, that he had it in his power to place her in a situation more congenial to her habits and tastes.

On his way home, while the image of this young female filled his mind, Brown's proposition presented itself in a most tempting point of view. For a moment his resolution gave way, and left him undecided whether he should not keep Mr. Wilmot in the dark, that his opportunities of enjoying her society might be more frequent. He was delighted with the idea of becoming her guardian, and pictured to himself the satisfaction he might experience in being regarded by her as a care-taker and protec tor. This temptation, however, was of short dura,

tion, and he resolved, as soon as he should see his employer, to make him acquainted with the whole affair.

In an hour from this, Vincent and Brown, having sent down their luggage by a servant of Mr. Wilmot, were on horseback and journeying towards Beechwood, the elegant country mansion of their hospitable friend. Brown was rather taciturn. Whether the incidents of the previous night occupied his mind, and made him thoughtful and silent, or whether he was still vexed at his companion for not allowing him to have his own way, we are not prepared to decide. Certain it is, however, that, from the time they mounted till they had arrived into the open country, he had not spoken twenty words. Nor did Vincent seem disposed to be so talkative as he was wont. Their narrow escape from the angry Hudson, the loss of young Anderson who accompanied them, together with the circumstances connected with Tyrrel and his amiable daughter, were well calculated to employ his thoughts to the exclusion of everything else.

The weather was uncommonly fine; the tornado of the previous night having cleared the atmosphere, and rendered it far less sultry than it had been for several days. The foliage wore a brillmoistened earth yielded a

iant freshness, and the most delightful fragrance. If anything could dispel gloomy thoughts, and inspire the mind with cheerful feelings, it was the beautiful appearance of the country on the morning in question, combined with

the prospect of a pleasant journey, and the certainty that, at its termination, a cordial welcome to rural pleasures awaited the impatient travellers. Vincent was peculiarly susceptible to the influence of natural scenery, and his confinement to the city, from which he seldom went farther than Hoboken, rendered his enjoyment on this occasion tenfold greater than it would have been, had his occupation allowed him to indulge more frequently in excursions into the country.

They had not proceeded many miles, before his sadness disappeared, and left him little else to do than to feast his eyes upon the woods and green fields, and to taste, in advance, the happiness he expected to enjoy under the roof of Mr. Wilmot. The image of Emma Tyrrel no longer haunted his imagination; but, as he journeyed on, he contemplated his visit with the most pleasing anticipations, and naturally associated Clara Wilmot with the pleasure of a sojourn at Beechwood. He had frequently heard her beauty extolled, but since he first became acquainted with her father, he had seen her only once, when she stepped into the office for a few moments, to bear a message from her mother. He remembered her as a girl, at that time, about sixteen years of age, tall and graceful, with large dark eyes, black hair, fair skin, and good teeth. He remembered, too, a charming sweetness of voice, and a peculiar vivacity in her manners; and his admiration was such, that for some days he thought of little else than Clara Wilmot. This, however, was more

than a year previously to the period of our tale; and as he happened, at the time, to be much engaged, her short visit did not afford him an opportunity of becoming familiar with her personal appearance. Many months had now elapsed since he had even thought of her; consequently his recollection of her features and expression of countenance, must have been very imperfect. The prospect of so soon being introduced to her, prompted him to bring before his mind's eye, as complete a picture of the beautiful original, as his memory could furnish; and if he was not so successful as he could wish, he was sufficiently so to make him impatient for the moment of dismounting at the door of his kind friend her father.

"To-morrow, it appears, is the birthday of Miss Clara Wilmot," said Vincent, desiring as much to break the long silence that had prevailed, as to gain some information concerning the daughter of their host.

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It is," replied Brown; "to-morrow she is seventeen years of age."

"I hear she is very beautiful."

"As beautiful as an Houri," responded Brown; "but you have seen her and ought to know; for I heard you say that she once called at the countingroom while you were there."

"She did; but I was much engaged at the time, and as she was there only a few minutes, a glance or two hardly sufficed to give me a correct idea of her person. I remember that she was as lively as