"Ah! Catharine, you must not now think of this. It is too late: besides, you fulfil a first duty in obeying your father."

Catharine was not convinced, but felt that it was, as Elizabeth said, too late to plead such an excuse. Yet, like her friend, she could not help concluding that Dunallan would not be willing, probably, to take these solemn vows were he averse to fulfilling them. Yet he had asked delay. She determined, if possible, to avoid thinking, and to attempt to appear less unhappy, let Dunallan suppose what he would. She wished to leave her father, under the impression that she was reconciled to his wishes. For the few following days her countenance wore an expression of submission, and calm elevation of mind, inspired by the consciousness of sacrificing her own feelings to those of her father; while the paleness of her looks, and her touching gentleness to all around her, gave her the appearance of one who had lost all hope for herself, and only sought to bestow on others what was for her gone for ever. When addressing her father, she even attempted to be cheerful. To Dunallan she was respectful and attentive, as if she already had taken the vow of subjection. Yet she deceived no one. When she met Dunallan's eyes, which she carefully avoided, but which seemed for ever fixed on her, she saw in them an expression of pity and concern she could not mistake. father, too, in vain tried to affect a gaiety, which only served to render his next moments of absence, and evidently painful thought, more striking.

Her

CHAPTER V.

AT last the dreaded morning arrived. Elizabeth went to her friend at an early hour: she found her dressed, and seated at a table, which was covered with letters and papers.

"What is all this, my Catharine? Remem. ber, my dear friend, the fatigues of this day."

"I do remember, my Elizabeth. I am only performing a necessary duty. It ought not to have been so long neglected; but never till last night did it so forcibly strike me that-1 might not again see Dunallan Castle: I had quite forgot to settle some things. But I have done," added she, putting up her papers with a composure that astonished Elizabeth; then turning to her friend, a faint smile on her languid countenance,

"How do you like my bridal attire, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth looked at her for a moment, then turned away to conceal her tears.

"Dear Catharine, do not look so patient, so resigned, yet so unhappy. You will leave us all quite miserable."

"I look as I feel, Elizabeth. I am resigned. I have now arranged all I wish to be done, should I never again return here, and I care not what happens. I am prepared for every thing, but (her voice changed) parting from you: (then feeling herself overcome,) I must not think of thiswe shall soon again meet. I shall write,—No,

dear Elizabeth, do not embrace me; do nothing to soften me. I have almost wished these few days for Mrs. St. Clair, instead of that gentle Mrs. Clanmar, who looks so sweetly anxious to comfort me, and to gain my confidence; and my dear kind Rose, and even you, Elizabeth. I entreat you do not all gaze on me with looks of such touching interest. Even Mr. Dunallan; but I must not think of him had he felt pity for me sooner; but it is now too late. Oh that the next hour were over! When will it be time for breakfast? You know we were to set off very early. When I am gone, Elizabeth, will you assure my father- "Her voice failed, and she turned away and walked to an open widow. The morning was calm and beautiful, and the freshness of the air revived her. She sat down, but rose again almost immediately, a blush crimsoning her before pale cheek.

"Mr. Dunallan," said she, retiring hastily from the window, "returning as usual from his morning walk, I suppose, quite composed; and he has seen that I am ready," added she, bitterly, and looking at her dress. "He bowed, too, to show he did perhaps. Well, a short time will undeceive him now. I shall soon have no secrets from him; no attempts to conceal my real feelings: he shall know that I have a heart that can be given only by myself; and calm, and proud, and immoveably right as he always is, he shall not despise me."

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Despise you, Catharine! he does not; he never did. I am satisfied he, I could almost say, loves you."

A gentle tap at the door of the apartment in

terrupted Elizabeth. Catharine became quite pale. It was Lord Dunallan.

"My Catharine, my dear love, we wait for you."

Catharine attempted to regain her composure, but without success. She leant on her father, but stopped on the stairs to breathe, her heart beat so violently that she became quite faint.

"My dear uncle," said Elizabeth, "let Catharine and me remain together till after breakfast. It is too much for her to see all our assembled friends before this trying ceremony." Lord Dunallan agreed to this proposal; and Catharine returned to her room with Elizabeth, who endeavoured to induce her to take some refreshment. She tried, but in vain. She was sick at heart.

"I cannot go through this ceremony, Elizabeth."

"Dear Catharine, recollect yourself. It is not possible now to retract."

"Leave me, dear Elizabeth. I regain composure most easily when alone. Take this last kiss, my Elizabeth; after I am again calm, do not bestow one kind word or look upon me, or I shall be unable for this dreadful exhibition-these fearful untrue vows!"

Elizabeth would not consent to leave her friend. She saw that the kind of composure she acquired when left alone, was only the result of an attempt to feel indifferent to every thing, and that the first trifle which awakened her feelings destroyed her composure. Elizabeth partly suċceeded in calming her agitation, by representing things as they really were.

"I am ready, my dear Elizabeth," said Catharine at last, "my true, my best friend!"

Lord Dunallan entered, and Catharine became as pale as ever. She took his arm, however, and hastened forward, as if afraid of again being obliged to return.

Lord Dunallan opened the door of the apartment in which the party were assembled. Catharine shrunk back for a moment, then suffered her father to lead her forward. In an instant Dunallan was at her side, and the voice of the old and venerable clergyman of Dunallan church was raised to heaven in prayer. Catharine, pale as marble, and almost as still, leant on her father, and seemed to listen, but did not hear. Dunallan audibly assented to the few simple but solemn vows he was required to make. Catharine's assent was supposed. Elizabeth drew her white glove from a hand almost as white and lifeless. Dunallan took it in his, and she was restored to some degree of consciousness by feeling that his trembled. He held her hand firmly, however, till the short ceremony was over, then touching it with his lips, resigned it to her fa

ther.

Lord Dunallan would have pressed Catharine to his heart, but she hurried from him, and from every one. Elizabeth followed her, but she waved her hand for her to leave her. Her father appeared: "Your journey is long, my love; my Catharine, I must hurry you from me. Mr. Dun

Catharine started up:

"I am ready."

"God for ever bless my dearest child."

"Oh my dearest father!"

He pressed her for an instant to his heart, VOL. I.

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