into beautiful bloom; and plucking an early violet, he pressed it to his lips and placed it next his heart.  “Doubly precious,” he said, internally, “planted by the hand of her I love, it flourished on my mother’s grave.  Oh, my mother, would that you could behold your Edward now; that your blessing could be mine.  It cannot be, and thrice blessed as I am, why should I seek for more?” A few moments longer he lingered, then turned in the direction of the Vicarage.

Lilla’s spirits harmonized not as they generally did with the calm beauty of nature around her.  Anxious and sorrowful, her tears more than once fell slowly and unheeded on her work; but little improvement had taken place in her father’s temper.  She had much, very much to bear, even though she knew he loved her, and that his chief cares were for her; retirement had not relieved his irritated spirit.  Had he, instead of retreating from, mingled as formerly in, the world, he might have been much happier, for he would have found the dishonourable conduct of his son had not tarnished his own.  He had been too long and too well known as the soul of honour and integrity, for one doubt or aspersion to be cast upon his name.  Lady Helen’s injudicious conduct towards her children was indeed often blamed, and Grahame’s own severity much regretted, but it was much more of sympathy he now commanded than scorn or suspicion, and all his friends lamented his retirement.  Had not Lilla’s spirits been naturally elastic, they must have bent beneath these continued and painful trials; her young heart often felt breaking, but the sense of religion, the excellent principles instilled both by Mrs. Douglas and Mrs. Hamilton now had their full effect, and sustained her amidst all.  She never wavered in her duty to her father; she never complained even in her letters to her dearest and most confidential friends.

“Have you thought on the subject we spoke of last night, Lilla?” asked her father, entering suddenly, and seating himself gloomily on a chair some paces from her.  His daughter started as she saw him, for the first tone of his voice betrayed he was more than usually irritable and gloomy.

“Yes, father, I have,” she replied, somewhat timidly.

“And what is your answer?”

“I fear you will be displeased, my dear father; but indeed I cannot answer differently to last night.”

“You are still resolved then to refuse Philip Clapperton?”

Lilla was silent.

“And pray may I ask the cause of your fastidiousness, Miss Grahame?  Your burst of tears last night made a very pretty scene no doubt, but they gave me no proper answer.”

“It is not only that I cannot love Mr. Clapperton, father, but I cannot respect him.”

“And pray why not?  I tell you, Lilla, blunt, even coarse, if you like, as he is, unpolished, hasty, yet he has a better heart by far than many of those more elegant and attractive sprigs of nobility, amongst which perhaps your romantic fancy has wandered, as being the only husbands fitted for you.”