The fact was, that the day on which Beatrice and Ethelind held the discussion, he had started to meet them, but feeling tired, sat down to rest on the very same bank they afterwards occupied:  but the sun shining fully on it, he had retreated behind a large tree, and having fallen asleep, was awakened by their talking, and thus became an unintentional auditor of their conversation.

It was a thunderbolt to him, to hear Beatrice acknowledge herself positively engaged, and yet wilfully resolve to encourage his attentions, and thus trifle with his feelings.  Before Beatrice came, he had been much pleased with the unaffected manner of Ethelind, whose character he highly respected; but her reserve made him conclude she was indifferent to him, but how did she rise in his estimation, as he heard the conversation.  Not a word of her advice to Beatrice was lost on him, and he only wondered he had not done her more justice; how grateful he felt for the noble indignation she expressed at her friend’s levity, and the honest warmth with which she took his part, and strove, as it were, to prevent his being betrayed by the heartless coquetry of Beatrice.  He regarded all that had occurred as a special intervention of Providence to save him from future misery.  His regard for Beatrice was daily increasing and believing her good and amiable, he desired to win the affection, which he fully thought was reciprocal; and how did the discovery of her treachery dash the cup of happiness from his lips; but as it was because he believed her truly amiable that he loved her, he thought, now the veil was drawn aside, he should soon get over his disappointment.  But, unworthy as she was, she had so entwined herself in his heart, that it was no easy task to tear her image from it—­however, he was strong-minded, and soon reflected that instead of grieving, he ought to be thankful for his escape.  Ethelind saw he was wretched, and fancied Beatrice was, some how or other, the cause.  She pitied him, and prayed for him, but it was all she could do; but she was not sorry to hear Beatrice say she had an invitation to Miss Fulton’s wedding, which she was determined to accept.  The night previous to her departure, Mr. Barclay, unasked, remained to tea, and when he took leave, he put a letter into the hand of Beatrice, which she slipped into her pocket, she thought, unseen by any one, but Ethelind saw it, though she took no notice, nor did Beatrice mention it Before retiring to rest, she read as follows:—­

  “MY DEAR MISS TREVOR,

“I should ill act up to that fearless line of duty my sacred calling prescribes, were I not, as a friend, to urge you to reflect on your present line of conduct, and ask you to pause on it, ere you wreck, not only the happiness of others but your own, at the shrine of inordinate vanity.  Shall I honestly own, that mine has narrowly escaped being wrecked; and that, from your own lips, I learnt such was the case.  Believing you good and amiable,