Twenty Second: Night. - What have I done? and what will be the endof it? I cannot calmly reflect upon it; I cannot sleep. I musthave recourse to my diary again; I will commit it to paper to-night, and see what I shall think of it to-morrow.

I went down to dinner resolving to be cheerful and well-conducted,and kept my resolution very creditably, considering how my headached and how internally wretched I felt. I don't know what iscome over me of late; my very energies, both mental and physical,must be strangely impaired, or I should not have acted so weakly inmany respects as I have done; but I have not been well this lastday or two. I suppose it is with sleeping and eating so little,and thinking so much, and being so continually out of humour. Butto return. I was exerting myself to sing and play for theamusement, and at the request, of my aunt and Milicent, before thegentlemen came into the drawing-room (Miss Wilmot never likes towaste her musical efforts on ladies' ears alone). Milicent hadasked for a little Scotch song, and I was just in the middle of itwhen they entered. The first thing Mr. Huntingdon did was to walkup to Annabella.

'Now, Miss Wilmot, won't you give us some music to-night?' said he.'Do now! I know you will, when I tell you that I have beenhungering and thirsting all day for the sound of your voice. Come!the piano's vacant.'

It was, for I had quitted it immediately upon hearing his petition.Had I been endowed with a proper degree of self-possession, Ishould have turned to the lady myself, and cheerfully joined myentreaties to his, whereby I should have disappointed hisexpectations, if the affront had been purposely given, or made himsensible of the wrong, if it had only arisen from thoughtlessness;but I felt it too deeply to do anything but rise from the music-stool, and throw myself back on the sofa, suppressing withdifficulty the audible expression of the bitterness I felt within.I knew Annabella's musical talents were superior to mine, but thatwas no reason why I should be treated as a perfect nonentity. Thetime and the manner of his asking her appeared like a gratuitousinsult to me; and I could have wept with pure vexation.

Meantime, she exultingly seated herself at the piano, and favouredhim with two of his favourite songs, in such superior style thateven I soon lost my anger in admiration, and listened with a sortof gloomy pleasure to the skilful modulations of her full-toned andpowerful voice, so judiciously aided by her rounded and spiritedtouch; and while my ears drank in the sound, my eyes rested on theface of her principal auditor, and derived an equal or superiordelight from the contemplation of his speaking countenance, as hestood beside her - that eye and brow lighted up with keenenthusiasm, and that sweet smile passing and appearing like gleamsof sunshine on an April day. No wonder he should hunger and thirstto hear her sing. I now forgave him from my heart his recklessslight of me, and I felt ashamed at my pettish resentment of such atrifle - ashamed too of those bitter envious pangs that gnawed myinmost heart, in spite of all this admiration and delight.

'There now,' said she, playfully running her fingers over the keyswhen she had concluded the second song. 'What shall I give younext?'

But in saying this she looked back at Lord Lowborough, who wasstanding a little behind, leaning against the back of a chair, anattentive listener, too, experiencing, to judge by his countenance,much the same feelings of mingled pleasure and sadness as I did.But the look she gave him plainly said, 'Do you choose for me now:I have done enough for him, and will gladly exert myself to gratifyyou;' and thus encouraged, his lordship came forward, and turningover the music, presently set before her a little song that I hadnoticed before, and read more than once, with an interest arisingfrom the circumstance of my connecting it in my mind with thereigning tyrant of my thoughts. And now, with my nerves alreadyexcited and half unstrung, I could not hear those words so sweetlywarbled forth without some symptoms of emotion I was not able tosuppress. Tears rose unbidden to my eyes, and I buried my face inthe sofa-pillow that they might flow unseen while I listened. Theair was simple, sweet, and sad. It is still running in my head,and so are the words:-

Farewell to thee! but not farewellTo all my fondest thoughts of thee:Within my heart they still shall dwell;And they shall cheer and comfort me.

O beautiful, and full of grace!If thou hadst never met mine eye,I had not dreamed a living faceCould fancied charms so far outvie.

If I may ne'er behold againThat form and face so dear to me,Nor hear thy voice, still would I fainPreserve, for aye, their memory.

That voice, the magic of whose toneCan wake an echo in my breast,Creating feelings that, alone,Can make my tranced spirit blest.

That laughing eye, whose sunny beamMy memory would not cherish less; -And oh, that smile! I whose joyous gleamNo mortal languish can express.

Adieu! but let me cherish, still,The hope with which I cannot part.Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,But still it lingers in my heart.

And who can tell but Heaven, at last,May answer all my thousand prayers,And bid the future pay the pastWith joy for anguish, smiles for tears.

When it ceased, I longed for nothing so much as to be out of theroom. The sofa was not far from the door, but I did not dare toraise my head, for I knew Mr. Huntingdon was standing near me, andI knew by the sound of his voice, as he spoke in answer to someremark of Lord Lowborough's, that his face was turned towards me.Perhaps a half-suppressed sob had caught his ear, and caused him tolook round - heaven forbid! But with a violent effort, I checkedall further signs of weakness, dried my tears, and, when I thoughthe had turned away again, rose, and instantly left the apartment,taking refuge in my favourite resort, the library.

There was no light there but the faint red glow of the neglectedfire; - but I did not want a light; I only wanted to indulge mythoughts, unnoticed and undisturbed; and sitting down on a lowstool before the easy-chair, I sunk my head upon its cushionedseat, and thought, and thought, until the tears gushed out again,and I wept like any child. Presently, however, the door was gentlyopened and someone entered the room. I trusted it was only aservant, and did not stir. The door was closed again - but I wasnot alone; a hand gently touched my shoulder, and a voice said,softly, - 'Helen, what is the matter?'

I could not answer at the moment.

'You must, and shall tell me,' was added, more vehemently, and thespeaker threw himself on his knees beside me on the rug, andforcibly possessed himself of my hand; but I hastily caught itaway, and replied, - 'It is nothing to you, Mr. Huntingdon.'

'Are you sure it is nothing to me?' he returned; 'can you swearthat you were not thinking of me while you wept?' This wasunendurable. I made an effort to rise, but he was kneeling on mydress.

'Tell me,' continued he - 'I want to know, - because if you were, Ihave something to say to you, - and if not, I'll go.'

'Go then!' I cried; but, fearing he would obey too well, and nevercome again, I hastily added - 'Or say what you have to say, andhave done with it!'

'But which?' said he - 'for I shall only say it if you really werethinking of me. So tell me, Helen.'

'You're excessively impertinent, Mr. Huntingdon!'

'Not at all - too pertinent, you mean. So you won't tell me? -Well, I'll spare your woman's pride, and, construing your silenceinto "Yes," I'll take it for granted that I was the subject of yourthoughts, and the cause of your affliction - '

'Indeed, sir - '

'If you deny it, I won't tell you my secret,' threatened he; and Idid not interrupt him again, or even attempt to repulse him:though he had taken my hand once more, and half embraced me withhis other arm, I was scarcely conscious of it at the time.

'It is this,' resumed he: 'that Annabella Wilmot, in comparisonwith you, is like a flaunting peony compared with a sweet, wildrosebud gemmed with dew - and I love you to distraction! - Now,tell me if that intelligence gives you any pleasure. Silenceagain? That means yes. Then let me add, that I cannot livewithout you, and if you answer No to this last question, you willdrive me mad. - Will you bestow yourself upon me? - you will!' hecried, nearly squeezing me to death in his arms.

'No, no!' I exclaimed, struggling to free myself from him - 'youmust ask my uncle and aunt.'

'They won't refuse me, if you don't.'

'I'm not so sure of that - my aunt dislikes you.'

'But you don't, Helen - say you love me, and I'll go.'

'I wish you would go!' I replied.

'I will, this instant, - if you'll only say you love me.'

'You know I do,' I answered. And again he caught me in his arms,and smothered me with kisses.

At that moment my aunt opened wide the door, and stood before us,candle in hand, in shocked and horrified amazement, gazingalternately at Mr. Huntingdon and me - for we had both started up,and now stood wide enough asunder. But his confusion was only fora moment. Rallying in an instant, with the most enviableassurance, he began, - 'I beg ten thousand pardons, Mrs. Maxwell!Don't be too severe upon me. I've been asking your sweet niece totake me for better, for worse; and she, like a good girl, informsme she cannot think of it without her uncle's and aunt's consent.So let me implore you not to condemn me to eternal wretchedness:if you favour my cause, I am safe; for Mr. Maxwell, I am certain,can refuse you nothing.'

'We will talk of this to-morrow, sir,' said my aunt, coldly. 'Itis a subject that demands mature and serious deliberation. Atpresent, you had better return to the drawing-room.'

'But meantime,' pleaded he, 'let me commend my cause to your mostindulgent - '

'No indulgence for you, Mr. Huntingdon, must come between me andthe consideration of my niece's happiness.'

'Ah, true! I know she is an angel, and I am a presumptuous dog todream of possessing such a treasure; but, nevertheless, I wouldsooner die than relinquish her in favour of the best man that everwent to heaven - and as for her happiness, I would sacrifice mybody and soul - '

'Body and soul, Mr. Huntingdon - sacrifice your soul?'

'Well, I would lay down life - '

'You would not be required to lay it down.'

'I would spend it, then - devote my life - and all its powers tothe promotion and preservation - '

'Another time, sir, we will talk of this - and I should have feltdisposed to judge more favourably of your pretensions, if you toohad chosen another time and place, and let me add - another mannerfor your declaration.'

'Why, you see, Mrs. Maxwell,' he began -

'Pardon me, sir,' said she, with dignity - 'The company areinquiring for you in the other room.' And she turned to me.

'Then you must plead for me, Helen,' said he, and at lengthwithdrew.

'You had better retire to your room, Helen,' said my aunt, gravely.'I will discuss this matter with you, too, to-morrow.'

'Don't be angry, aunt,' said I.

'My dear, I am not angry,' she replied: 'I am surprised. If it istrue that you told him you could not accept his offer without ourconsent - '

'It is true,' interrupted I.

'Then how could you permit -?'

'I couldn't help it, aunt,' I cried, bursting into tears. Theywere not altogether the tears of sorrow, or of fear for herdispleasure, but rather the outbreak of the general tumultuousexcitement of my feelings. But my good aunt was touched at myagitation. In a softer tone, she repeated her recommendation toretire, and, gently kissing my forehead, bade me good-night, andput her candle in my hand; and I went; but my brain worked so, Icould not think of sleeping. I feel calmer now that I have writtenall this; and I will go to bed, and try to win tired nature's sweetrestorer.