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At that late hour, and in a lonely situation, where he thought there could be but little congenial society, Mr. Singleton had calculated on finding the whole household at home. In this, however, he had been deceived. The only individual in that rambling house, besides one of the servants, was a young lady, apparently about twenty years of age, or probably a little older. In order rightly to understand who this was, we must make a somewhat lengthy digression.

Emma Singleton, for she bore the same name, and was, in fact, related to the gentleman just introduced to the reader, was, to use a term fearfully abused in the present day, a really interesting girl, in many senses of the word. Trustful, simpleminded, and warm-hearted, she possessed also a winning elegance of manners; and real kindness showed itself in all her words and actions. Measuring her attainments by the amount of her halfyearly bills, she had been "highly educated;" but looking at them in reference to common sense, or Christian usefulness, they were found sadly wanting. To borrow the idea of an elegant and powerful writer, she had been taught "to think that the entering a room gracefully was more important than the entering into heaven; and that the grand thing for which God had sent a child into the world was, that it might catch the Italian accent, and be quite at home in every note of the gamut." There had been no solid ground-work laid on which to build a healthy, and efficient, and useful system of action-the prettinesses and accomplishments of life had been substituted for that severe, and ever-active, and watchful discipline of the mind, which can alone fit us for living in a world of such stern realities as those by which we are surrounded. The Misses Mendham, under whom she had "completed" her education, had certainly taught her that she had a mind; for on no subject were they more fluent than on mental and moral philosophy. Every thing they heard or read was with them, "so intellectual-so metaphysical-so great," if it only touched on these matters; and, "What a mind that girl has!" was, in their language, equivalent to that loftiest of all encomiums-" He went about doing good."

But it must not be supposed that the minds of their pupils really formed the object of their study and solicitude. They were, nevertheless, a little in advance of their competitors in the

educational world. The writings of Stewart, of Reid, and Abercrombie, had opened up to them a new field of enquiry, and they were no longer like those little children with some pet animal, of whose economy and habits they are altogether ignorant, and who kill it with mistaken kindness, by supplying it with all that it does not want, and withholding all it does. They knew that the mind required to be fed, and that this mental food was to be elaborated by a variety of processes, till it produced healthy and vigorous action, and built up a sound system. But they seemed hardly to be aware of the fact, that reason was to be vicegerent, and revelation, sole monarch, of this inner kingdom. In many instances, the imagination was allowed to rule; and when this was not the case, the judgment was seldom submitted to the dictates of inspiration; they fell into the error, too widely prevalent, that reason was made to teach, rather than to learn ; and they consequently did not think that, in this case, the apostle was wiser than themselves, when he directed that every thought should be brought into captivity to the obedience of Christ. Thus tutored, Emma Singleton grew up to womanhood. Her uncle, called abroad by professional engagements some years ago, had placed her, after leaving school, in the family of a clergyman; of whom, it must be confessed, he knew but little, but of whom he had heard a good report. The views of this clergyman had undergone a change; and, in the course of about two years, he had become a confirmed Puseyite. Whispers of this change had reached Mr. Singleton, at Venice, and as soon as he could arrange matters, he hastened home to England, with a view of ascertaining the exact position of his niece. Not many hours ago he had hastened from the railway-station to the town, at which we have described his arrival, and now he was in the very house at which his niece was domiciled,-the rectory of Springclose,-of which the Reverend Silenus Glosenfane was at present incumbent.

In far less time than we have occupied upon this little episode, the servant had carried to her young mistress the card of Mr. Singleton. A suppressed scream announced that it had been placed in her hands, and the next moment she had flown down stairs, and was in the arms of her uncle. The meeting was a warm, and, in some senses, a joyful one; for Emma had always looked upon her relative as a child looks upon a parent. He was

almost the only one she had whose opinion she much valuedher adviser and best friend-though he had, of late, had but little direct communication with her. Shifting from place to place on the continent, as he was compelled to do in his office of travelling tutor to a young nobleman, her letters had not always reached him; and his own, owing to his multifarious engagements, had been but few. In these limited communications, moreover, as far as Emma was concerned, there had been little of a religious character. The school in which she was now learning Christianity, if it deserved so high and holy a name, was not the best for stimulating that intercourse of soul, of which such letters as pass between friend and friend, are properly the vehicles. It was essentially a creed of form-an importable thing-not to be talked about, not to be felt, not to be enjoyed-but simply to be seen. It was, in truth, limited and local; though misnamed, catholic and universal.

As the first impulse of affection in the breast of Emma Singleton subsided, and she began to realize all the circumstances and possible consequences of the meeting, the color mounted to her face; she became confused, and seriously affected, and at last burst into tears. Her uncle was moved too; and anxious to divert her mind, though he scarcely guessed the cause of her emotion, he asked after the rest of the household.

"They are all out," sobbed Emma; "not a soul in the house but Baker and myself; nor do I expect them home for some hours: they are all at the county ball."

Mr. Singleton started, as if under the influence of an electric shock. He, however, said nothing audibly, though his manner spoke far more eloquently than words could do, and it required no very clever physiognomist to see that he was deeply pained by the disclosure. It was, however, some source of consolation to him, to find that his own affectionate Emma was not with them. Forcing a smile, Mr. Singleton looked affectionately at Emma, and said pleasantly, "Well then, my dear child, we shall have a quiet evening all to ourselves; and I have little doubt we shall find plenty to talk about. How long has your friend been a patron of balls, Emma?

“Oh! uncle,” she replied, endeavoring to quiet her conflicting feelings, "many of the clergy in this part of the country are

there, I believe, to-night; and I am quite sure Mr. Glosenfane would not go if there were any harm in it: he gets more and more conscientious in these things every day; it was put off for a week solely to please him, because he objected to go on Holy Innocents or the octave of Saint Ischyrion.

Here was another wound, given in utter unconsciousness by poor Emma; for nothing could be farther from her wishes than to pain any one, and especially so dear a friend as her uncle. His suspicions were confirmed, and he sighed unintentionally as he saw, through the medium of these little incidents, the flimsy character of that Galatian heresy, misnamed religion, of which the rector, and apparently his own niece, had drunk deeply.

He looked at Emma. There was nothing like anger in his countenance, but that subdued expression which indicates a conflict between duty and affection. Her heart was already full. The joy of so unexpected a meeting, struggling with a consciousness that her uncle could not be otherwise than grieved at her change of opinions-though she herself was far, very far, from realizing the depth of error into which she had fallen-coupled with the desire to pour out at once all her feelings in explanation of the course she had taken; and the fond but confident expectation lurking in her bosom, that she could satisfy him of the purity of her motives, had completely overcome her, and she could only meet her uncle's earnest look by again bursting into tears.

In the heartiness with which the intimation of her uncle's arrival had been met by Emma, she had flown down stairs, and rushed into the parlor without closing the door. They were still standing together before the fire-place, and whilst the poor girl continued speechless from the intensity of her emotion, Mr. Singleton turned his eyes unwittingly, and in a state of objectless abstraction towards the door. A window in the hall beyond, let in a soft gleam of moonlight, leading the eye insensibly towards it. Through that casement, the cold, misty moon herself, was partially visible, and her rays fell upon the outer gateway and glittered upon the laurel leaves beside it. There was the family crest in its rude stone work, outlined as by some phosphoric finger-the grim lion grasping the heart, and looking still more grim in that pale, cold, hazy atmosphere. What an apt emblem of its owner! There was he, a very brute in his inanity, mind

less and seemingly irresponsible, amongst the giddiest of the giddy, in the whirling maze of folly and fashion, frittering away those hours which he held in trust from God for the benefit of souls; and here stood the poor trembling victim of his heartlessness, her very soul torn in pieces by his actual, though unsuspected cruelty -a heart in the grasp of a ravening beast of prey. To any one, in whose mind the scriptures have taken deep root, it will not appear strange, that Mr. Singleton should have applied to the position of his beloved niece, the words of the distressed Psalmist, "My soul is among lions," or have breathed the earnest prayer, "Rescue my soul from their destruction-my darling from the lions!" That he actually did so, we are not prepared to say, though we know that when his eyes again met those of Emma, they were lighted up with such tears, as deep and prayerful sympathy alone could kindle.

Her excess of feeling having to a certain extent wrought its own cure, Emma began to see that she had been wanting in the common courtesies connected with the reception of her uncle. He was still standing, and as he moved, at her instance, towards the table to seat himself, she recollected that on leaving the room when surprised by the first announcement of his arrival, the work on which she was engaged had been hurriedly thrown aside. It was an altar-cloth which she had been embroidering, and fearing that the sight of it would awaken further regret in the mind of her uncle, whose feelings were just now more than usually sensitive, she caught it up hastily, and as she thought, unobserved, and removed it. The quick eye, however, of Mr. Singleton detected her confusion, but he was satisfied by her assurance that he should know more about it at another time.

In catching up the work, however, Emma had overlooked the fact, that she had laid it down upon the book she was glancing at in those intervals which the character of her other task permitted, and she consequently, left that book exposed upon the table, whilst she was engaged in putting it away. Her uncle, less, perhaps, from motives of curiosity than from a habit, almost intuitive, of looking into books whenever they came in his way, took it up; and as he turned to the title page, his countenance again fell, and he laid it down with a sigh.

And well he might; for that book told a secret fraught with

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