Of late, indeed, she had felt great uneasiness about him.  Much changed, he seemed occupied by some dark, dread thought, which partially revealed itself in wrathful exclamations and muttered menaces.  He seemed to believe himself chosen by Heaven as an instrument of vengeance against oppression; and her fears were excited lest he might commit some terrible act under this fatal impression.  She was the more confirmed in the idea from the eagerness with which he had grasped at Jocelyn’s rash promise, and she determined to put the young man upon his guard.

If, in order to satisfy the reader’s curiosity, we are obliged to examine the state of Aveline’s heart, in reference to Jocelyn, we must state candidly that no such ardent flame was kindled within it as burnt in the breast of the young man.  That such a flame might arise was very possible, nay even probable, seeing that the sparks of love were there; and material for combustion was by no means wanting.  All that was required was, that those sparks should be gently fanned—­not heedlessly extinguished.

Little was said by the two young persons, as they slowly paced the terrace.  Both felt embarrassed:  Jocelyn longing to give utterance to his feelings, but restrained by timidity—­Aveline trembling lest more might be said than she ought to hear, or if obliged to hear, than she could rightly answer.  Thus they walked on in silence.  But it was a silence more eloquent than words, since each comprehended what the other felt.  How much they would have said was proclaimed by the impossibility they found of saying anything!

At length, Jocelyn stopped, and plucking a flower, observed, as he proffered it for her acceptance, “My first offering to you was rejected.  May this be more fortunate.”

“Make me a promise, and I will accept it,” she replied.

“Willingly,”, cried Jocelyn, venturing to take her hand, and gazing at her tenderly.  “Most willingly.”

“You are far too ready to promise,” she rejoined with a sad, sweet smile.  “What I desire is this.  Recall your hasty pledge to my father, and aid me in dissuading him from the enterprise in which he would engage you.”

As the words were uttered the Puritan stepped from behind the alley which had enabled him to approach them unperceived, and overhear their brief converse.

“Hold!” he exclaimed in a solemn tone, and regarding Jocelyn with great earnestness.  “That promise is sacred.  It was made in a father’s name, and must be fulfilled.  As to my purpose it is unchangeable.”

The enthusiast’s influence over Jocelyn would have proved irresistible but for the interposition of Aveline.

“Be not controlled by him,” she said in a low tone to the young man; adding to her father, “For my sake, let the promise be cancelled.”

“Let him ask it, and it shall be,” rejoined the Puritan, gazing steadily at the young man, as if he would penetrate his soul.  “Do you hesitate?” he cried in accents of deep disappointment, perceiving Jocelyn waver.