It was strange to observe the difference of character which opposite circumstances and opposite treatment in their infant years had made in these two cousins.  Emmeline and Ellen, had they been brought up from babes together, and the same discipline extended to each, would, in all probability, have in after years displayed precisely the same disposition; but though weak indulgence had never been extended to Emmeline, prosperity unalloyed, save in the affair with Arthur Myrvin, had been her portion.  Affection and caresses had been ever lavished almost unconsciously upon her, but instead of cherishing faults, such treatment had formed her happiness, and had encouraged and led her on in the paths of virtue.  Every thought and feeling were expressed without disguise; she had been so accustomed to think aloud to her mother from childhood, so accustomed to give vent to her little vexations in words, her sorrows in tears, which were quickly dried, that as years increased, she found it a very difficult task either to restrain her sentiments or control her feelings.  Her mind could not be called weak, for in her affection for Arthur Myrvin, as we have seen, when there was a peremptory call for exertion or self-control, it was ever heard and attended to.  Her health indeed suffered, but that very fact proved the mind was stronger than the frame; though when she marked Ellen’s superior composure and coolness, Emmeline would sometimes bitterly reproach herself.  From her birth, Ellen had been initiated in sorrow, her infant years had been one scene of trial.  Never caressed by her mother or those around her, save when her poor father was near, she had learned to bury every affectionate yearning deep within her own little heart, every childish sentiment was carefully concealed, and her father’s death, the horrors of that night, appeared to have placed the seal on her character, infant as she was.  She was scarcely ten when she became an inmate of her aunt’s family, but then it was too late for her character to become as Emmeline’s.  The impression had been made on the yielding wax, and now it could not be effaced.  Many circumstances contributed to strengthen this impression, as in the first portion of this history we have seen.  Adversity had made Ellen as she was, and self-control had become her second nature, long before she knew the meaning of the word.

The intelligence of Herbert’s death, though deferred till St. Eval thought his wife enabled to bear it with some composure, had, however, so completely thrown her back, that she was quite unequal to travel to England, as her wishes had instantly dictated, and her husband was compelled to keep up a constant system of deception with regard to her mother’s illness, lest she should insist, weak as she was, on immediately flying to her aid.  As soon as sufficient strength returned for Mrs. Hamilton to express her wishes, she entreated Percy to rejoin his sister, that all alarm on her account might subside.  The