September 24th. - In the morning I rose, light and cheerful - nay,intensely happy. The hovering cloud cast over me by my aunt'sviews, and by the fear of not obtaining her consent, was lost inthe bright effulgence of my own hopes, and the too delightfulconsciousness of requited love. It was a splendid morning; and Iwent out to enjoy it, in a quiet ramble, in company with my ownblissful thoughts. The dew was on the grass, and ten thousandgossamers were waving in the breeze; the happy red-breast waspouring out its little soul in song, and my heart overflowed withsilent hymns of gratitude and praise to heaven.

But I had not wandered far before my solitude was interrupted bythe only person that could have disturbed my musings, at thatmoment, without being looked upon as an unwelcome intruder: Mr.Huntingdon came suddenly upon me. So unexpected was theapparition, that I might have thought it the creation of an over-excited imagination, had the sense of sight alone borne witness tohis presence; but immediately I felt his strong arm round my waistand his warm kiss on my cheek, while his keen and gleefulsalutation, 'My own Helen!' was ringing in my ear.

'Not yours yet!' said I, hastily swerving aside from this toopresumptuous greeting. 'Remember my guardians. You will noteasily obtain my aunt's consent. Don't you see she is prejudicedagainst you?'

'I do, dearest; and you must tell me why, that I may best know howto combat her objections. I suppose she thinks I am a prodigal,'pursued he, observing that I was unwilling to reply, 'and concludesthat I shall have but little worldly goods wherewith to endow mybetter half? If so, you must tell her that my property is mostlyentailed, and I cannot get rid of it. There may be a few mortgageson the rest - a few trifling debts and incumbrances here and there,but nothing to speak of; and though I acknowledge I am not so richas I might be - or have been - still, I think, we could managepretty comfortably on what's left. My father, you know, wassomething of a miser, and in his latter days especially saw nopleasure in life but to amass riches; and so it is no wonder thathis son should make it his chief delight to spend them, which wasaccordingly the case, until my acquaintance with you, dear Helen,taught me other views and nobler aims. And the very idea of havingyou to care for under my roof would force me to moderate myexpenses and live like a Christian - not to speak of all theprudence and virtue you would instil into my mind by your wisecounsels and sweet, attractive goodness.'

'But it is not that,' said I; 'it is not money my aunt thinksabout. She knows better than to value worldly wealth above itsprice.'

'What is it, then?'

'She wishes me to - to marry none but a really good man.'

'What, a man of "decided piety"? - ahem! - Well, come, I'll managethat too! It's Sunday to-day, isn't it? I'll go to churchmorning, afternoon, and evening, and comport myself in such a godlysort that she shall regard me with admiration and sisterly love, asa brand plucked from the burning. I'll come home sighing like afurnace, and full of the savour and unction of dear Mr. Blatant'sdiscourse - '

'Mr. Leighton,' said I, dryly.

'Is Mr. Leighton a "sweet preacher," Helen - a "dear, delightful,heavenly-minded man"?'

'He is a good man, Mr. Huntingdon. I wish I could say half as muchfor you.'

'Oh, I forgot, you are a saint, too. I crave your pardon, dearest- but don't call me Mr. Huntingdon; my name is Arthur.'

'I'll call you nothing - for I'll have nothing at all to do withyou if you talk in that way any more. If you really mean todeceive my aunt as you say, you are very wicked; and if not, youare very wrong to jest on such a subject.'

'I stand corrected,' said he, concluding his laugh with a sorrowfulsigh. 'Now,' resumed he, after a momentary pause, 'let us talkabout something else. And come nearer to me, Helen, and take myarm; and then I'll let you alone. I can't be quiet while I see youwalking there.'

I complied; but said we must soon return to the house.

'No one will be down to breakfast yet, for long enough,' heanswered. 'You spoke of your guardians just now, Helen, but is notyour father still living?'

'Yes, but I always look upon my uncle and aunt as my guardians, forthey are so in deed, though not in name. My father has entirelygiven me up to their care. I have never seen him since dear mammadied, when I was a very little girl, and my aunt, at her request,offered to take charge of me, and took me away to Staningley, whereI have remained ever since; and I don't think he would object toanything for me that she thought proper to sanction.'

'But would he sanction anything to which she thought proper toobject?'

'No, I don't think he cares enough about me.'

'He is very much to blame - but he doesn't know what an angel hehas for his daughter - which is all the better for me, as, if hedid, he would not be willing to part with such a treasure.'

'And Mr. Huntingdon,' said I, 'I suppose you know I am not anheiress?'

He protested he had never given it a thought, and begged I wouldnot disturb his present enjoyment by the mention of suchuninteresting subjects. I was glad of this proof of disinterestedaffection; for Annabella Wilmot is the probable heiress to all heruncle's wealth, in addition to her late father's property, whichshe has already in possession.

I now insisted upon retracing our steps to the house; but we walkedslowly, and went on talking as we proceeded. I need not repeat allwe said: let me rather refer to what passed between my aunt andme, after breakfast, when Mr. Huntingdon called my uncle aside, nodoubt to make his proposals, and she beckoned me into another room,where she once more commenced a solemn remonstrance, which,however, entirely failed to convince me that her view of the casewas preferable to my own.

'You judge him uncharitably, aunt, I know,' said I. 'His veryfriends are not half so bad as you represent them. There is WalterHargrave, Milicent's brother, for one: he is but a little lowerthan the angels, if half she says of him is true. She iscontinually talking to me about him, and lauding his many virtuesto the skies.'

'You will form a very inadequate estimate of a man's character,'replied she, 'if you judge by what a fond sister says of him. Theworst of them generally know how to hide their misdeeds from theirsisters' eyes, and their mother's, too.'

'And there is Lord Lowborough,' continued I, 'quite a decent man.'

'Who told you so? Lord Lowborough is a desperate man. He hasdissipated his fortune in gambling and other things, and is nowseeking an heiress to retrieve it. I told Miss Wilmot so; butyou're all alike: she haughtily answered she was very much obligedto me, but she believed she knew when a man was seeking her for herfortune, and when for herself; she flattered herself she had hadexperience enough in those matters to be justified in trusting toher own judgment - and as for his lordship's lack of fortune, shecared nothing about that, as she hoped her own would suffice forboth; and as for his wildness, she supposed he was no worse thanothers - besides, he was reformed now. Yes, they can all play thehypocrite when they want to take in a fond, misguided woman!'

'Well, I think he's about as good as she is,' said I. 'But whenMr. Huntingdon is married, he won't have many opportunities ofconsorting with his bachelor friends; - and the worse they are, themore I long to deliver him from them.'

'To be sure, my dear; and the worse he is, I suppose, the more youlong to deliver him from himself.'

'Yes, provided he is not incorrigible - that is, the more I long todeliver him from his faults - to give him an opportunity of shakingoff the adventitious evil got from contact with others worse thanhimself, and shining out in the unclouded light of his own genuinegoodness - to do my utmost to help his better self against hisworse, and make him what he would have been if he had not, from thebeginning, had a bad, selfish, miserly father, who, to gratify hisown sordid passions, restricted him in the most innocent enjoymentsof childhood and youth, and so disgusted him with every kind ofrestraint; - and a foolish mother who indulged him to the top ofhis bent, deceiving her husband for him, and doing her utmost toencourage those germs of folly and vice it was her duty tosuppress, - and then, such a set of companions as you represent hisfriends to be - '

'Poor man!' said she, sarcastically, 'his kind have greatly wrongedhim!'

'They have!' cried I - 'and they shall wrong him no more - his wifeshall undo what his mother did!'

'Well,' said she, after a short pause, 'I must say, Helen, Ithought better of your judgment than this - and your taste too.How you can love such a man I cannot tell, or what pleasure you canfind in his company; for "what fellowship hath light with darkness;or he that believeth with an infidel?"'

'He is not an infidel; - and I am not light, and he is notdarkness; his worst and only vice is thoughtlessness.'

'And thoughtlessness,' pursued my aunt, 'may lead to every crime,and will but poorly excuse our errors in the sight of God. Mr.Huntingdon, I suppose, is not without the common faculties of men:he is not so light-headed as to be irresponsible: his Maker hasendowed him with reason and conscience as well as the rest of us;the Scriptures are open to him as well as to others; - and "if hehear not them, neither will he hear though one rose from the dead."And remember, Helen,' continued she, solemnly, '"the wicked shallbe turned into hell, and they that forget God!"' And suppose,even, that he should continue to love you, and you him, and thatyou should pass through life together with tolerable comfort - howwill it be in the end, when you see yourselves parted for ever;you, perhaps, taken into eternal bliss, and he cast into the lakethat burneth with unquenchable fire - there for ever to - '

'Not for ever,' I exclaimed, '"only till he has paid the uttermostfarthing;" for "if any man's work abide not the fire, he shallsuffer loss, yet himself shall be saved, but so as by fire;" and Hethat "is able to subdue all things to Himself will have all men tobe saved," and "will, in the fulness of time, gather together inone all things in Christ Jesus, who tasted death for every man, andin whom God will reconcile all things to Himself, whether they bethings in earth or things in heaven."'

'Oh, Helen! where did you learn all this?'

'In the Bible, aunt. I have searched it through, and found nearlythirty passages, all tending to support the same theory.'

'And is that the use you make of your Bible? And did you find nopassages tending to prove the danger and the falsity of such abelief?'

'No: I found, indeed, some passages that, taken by themselves,might seem to contradict that opinion; but they will all bear adifferent construction to that which is commonly given, and in mostthe only difficulty is in the word which we translate "everlasting"or "eternal." I don't know the Greek, but I believe it strictlymeans for ages, and might signify either endless or long-enduring.And as for the danger of the belief, I would not publish it abroadif I thought any poor wretch would be likely to presume upon it tohis own destruction, but it is a glorious thought to cherish inone's own heart, and I would not part with it for all the world cangive!'

Here our conference ended, for it was now high time to prepare forchurch. Every one attended the morning service, except my uncle,who hardly ever goes, and Mr. Wilmot, who stayed at home with himto enjoy a quiet game of cribbage. In the afternoon Miss Wilmotand Lord Lowborough likewise excused themselves from attending; butMr. Huntingdon vouchsafed to accompany us again. Whether it was toingratiate himself with my aunt I cannot tell, but, if so, hecertainly should have behaved better. I must confess, I did notlike his conduct during service at all. Holding his prayer-bookupside down, or open at any place but the right, he did nothing butstare about him, unless he happened to catch my aunt's eye or mine,and then he would drop his own on his book, with a puritanical airof mock solemnity that would have been ludicrous, if it had notbeen too provoking. Once, during the sermon, after attentivelyregarding Mr. Leighton for a few minutes, he suddenly produced hisgold pencil-case and snatched up a Bible. Perceiving that Iobserved the movement, he whispered that he was going to make anote of the sermon; but instead of that, as I sat next him, I couldnot help seeing that he was making a caricature of the preacher,giving to the respectable, pious, elderly gentleman, the air andaspect of a most absurd old hypocrite. And yet, upon his return,he talked to my aunt about the sermon with a degree of modest,serious discrimination that tempted me to believe he had reallyattended to and profited by the discourse.

Just before dinner my uncle called me into the library for thediscussion of a very important matter, which was dismissed in fewwords.

'Now, Nell,' said he, 'this young Huntingdon has been asking foryou: what must I say about it? Your aunt would answer "no" - butwhat say you?'

'I say yes, uncle,' replied I, without a moment's hesitation; for Ihad thoroughly made up my mind on the subject.

'Very good!' cried he. 'Now that's a good honest answer -wonderful for a girl! - Well, I'll write to your father to-morrow.He's sure to give his consent; so you may look on the matter assettled. You'd have done a deal better if you'd taken Wilmot, Ican tell you; but that you won't believe. At your time of life,it's love that rules the roast: at mine, it's solid, serviceablegold. I suppose now, you'd never dream of looking into the stateof your husband's finances, or troubling your head aboutsettlements, or anything of that sort?'

'I don't think I should.'

'Well, be thankful, then, that you've wiser heads to think for you.I haven't had time, yet, to examine thoroughly into this youngrascal's affairs, but I see that a great part of his father's fineproperty has been squandered away; - but still, I think, there's apretty fair share of it left, and a little careful nursing may makea handsome thing of it yet; and then we must persuade your fatherto give you a decent fortune, as he has only one besides yourselfto care for; - and, if you behave well, who knows but what I may beinduced to remember you in my will!' continued he, putting hisfingers to his nose, with a knowing wink.

'Thanks, uncle, for that and all your kindness,' replied I.

'Well, and I questioned this young spark on the matter ofsettlements,' continued he; 'and he seemed disposed to be generousenough on that point - '

'I knew he would!' said I. 'But pray don't trouble your head - orhis, or mine about that; for all I have will be his, and all he haswill be mine; and what more could either of us require?' And I wasabout to make my exit, but he called me back.

'Stop, stop!' cried he; 'we haven't mentioned the time yet. Whenmust it be? Your aunt would put it off till the Lord knows when,but he is anxious to be bound as soon as may be: he won't hear ofwaiting beyond next month; and you, I guess, will be of the samemind, so - '

'Not at all, uncle; on the contrary, I should like to wait tillafter Christmas, at least.'

'Oh! pooh, pooh! never tell me that tale - I know better,' criedhe; and he persisted in his incredulity. Nevertheless, it is quitetrue. I am in no hurry at all. How can I be, when I think of themomentous change that awaits me, and of all I have to leave? It ishappiness enough to know that we are to be united; and that hereally loves me, and I may love him as devotedly, and think of himas often as I please. However, I insisted upon consulting my auntabout the time of the wedding, for I determined her counsels shouldnot be utterly disregarded; and no conclusions on that particularare come to yet.