Emmeline, the Orphan of the Castle. Charlotte Smith

whose command of herself was exerted with too much violence not to shake her whole frame with it's effects, no sooner reached her own chamber than she found all her courage gone, and a violent passion of tears succeeded.

      Her deep convulsive sighs reached the ears of Miss Galton; who entered the room, and began, in the common mode of consolation, first to enquire why she wept?

      Emmeline answered only by weeping the more.

      Miss Galton enquired if that gentleman was Lord Montreville.

      Emmeline was unable to reply; and Miss Galton finding no gratification to her curiosity, which, mingled with envious malignity, had long been her ruling passion, was obliged to quit the unhappy Emmeline; which was indeed the only favour she could do her.

      The whole morning had passed before Miss Mowbray was able to come down stairs, and when she did, her languor and dejection were excessive. Miss Galton only dined with her; if it might be called dining, for she eat nothing; but just as the cloth was removed, a coach stopped, and Mrs. Ashwood appeared, led by her brother, Mr. Stafford.

      Emmeline, who had not very lately heard from her beloved friend, now eagerly enquired after her, and learned that the illness of one of her children had, together with her being far advanced in her pregnancy, prevented her coming to London with Mr. Stafford; who, tho' summoned thither immediately on his father's death, had only arrived the evening before; the messenger that went having missed him at his own house, and having been obliged to follow him into another county.

      He delivered to Miss Mowbray a letter from Mrs. Stafford, with which Emmeline, eager to read it, retired—

      'Trust me, Emmeline, no abatement in my tender regard, has occasioned my omitting to write to you: but anxiety of mind so great, as to deprive me of all power to attend to any thing but it's immediate object.—Your poor little friend Harry, who looked so much recovered, and so full of health and spirits, when you left him at Swansea, was three weeks ago seized again with one of those fevers to which he has so repeatedly been liable, and for many days his life appeared to be in the most immediate danger. You know how far we are from a physician; and you know my anxiety for this first darling of my heart; judge then, my Emmeline, of the miserable hours I have known, between hope and fear, and the sleepless nights I have passed at the bed side of my suffering cherub; and in my present state I doubly feel all this anxiety and fatigue, and am very much otherwise than well. Of myself, however, I think not, since Harry is out of danger, and Dr. Farnaby thinks will soon be entirely restored; but he is still so very weak, that I never quit him even a moment. The rest of my children are well; and all who are capable of recollection, remember and love you.

      'And now, my dear Miss Mowbray, as the visitors who have been with me ever since my return from Swansea, are happily departed and no others expected, and as Mr. Stafford will be engaged in town almost all the winter, in consequence of his father's death, will you not come to me? You only can alleviate and share a thousand anxieties that prey on my spirits; you only can sweeten the hour of my confinement, which will happen in January; and before you only I can sigh at liberty and be forgiven.

      'Ah! Emmeline—the death of Mr. Stafford's father, far from producing satisfaction as increasing our fortune, brings to me only regret and sorrow. He loved me with great affection; and I owe him a thousand obligations. The family will have reason to regret his loss; tho' the infirmities of the latter part of his life were not much alleviated by their attendance or attention.

      'Come to me, Emmeline, if possible; come, if you can, with Mr.