“Your sincere friend,

“ARTHUR HAMILTON.”

No word, no sound broke from the parched lips of Emmeline as she ceased to read.  She returned the paper to her father in that same silence, and turning from his glance, buried her face in her hands.  Mr. Hamilton guessed at once all that was passing in that young and tortured heart; he drew her to him, and whispered fondly—­

“Speak to me, my Emmeline.  You do not think he can mistake my feelings.  He will not doubt all prejudice is removed.”

“Oh, no, no,” she replied, after a severe struggle for composure; “you have said enough, dear, dear papa.  I could not have expected more.”

For a moment she clung to his neck, and covered his cheek with kisses, then gently withdrawing herself from his arms, quietly but hastily left the room.  For about an hour she might have remained absent, and Mrs. Hamilton would not disturb her; and when she returned there was no trace of agitation, pale she was indeed, and her eye had lost its brightness, but that was too customary now to be deemed the effect of excited emotion, and no further notice was taken, save that perhaps the manner of her parents and Ellen towards her that night was even fonder than usual.

Once again Mr. Hamilton mentioned Arthur Myrvin; to speak of the pleasing and satisfactory letters both he and Mr. Howard had received from him.  He addressed himself to Ellen, telling her, Arthur had written in a manner tending to satisfy even her friendly feelings towards him.  Emmeline joined not in the conversation.  Her father did not offer to show her the letter, and she stilled the yearnings of her young and loving heart.  From that hour the name of Arthur Myrvin was never heard in the halls of Oakwood.  There was no appearance of effort in the avoidance, but still it was not spoken; not even by Percy and Herbert, nor by Caroline or her husband.  Even the letters of Lady Florence and Lady Emily Lyle ceased to make him their principal object.  Emmeline knew the volatile nature of the latter, and therefore was not surprised that she had grown tired of the theme; that Lady Florence should so completely cease all mention of the tutor of her favourite brother was rather more strange, but she did so perhaps in her letters to Ellen, and of that Emmeline had not courage to ask.  St. Eval would speak of Lord Louis, expressing hopes that he was becoming more steady; but it so chanced that, although at such times Emmeline, spite of herself, ever longed for somewhat more, the magic name that would have bidden every pulse throb never reached her ears, and her excited spirit would sink back in despondency and gloom, increased from the momentary excitement which expectation had vainly called forth.