`I stand corrected,' said he, concluding his laugh with a sorrowful sigh. `Now,' resumed he, after a momentary pause, `let us talk about something else. And come nearer to me, Helen, and take my arm; and then I'll let you alone. I can't be quiet while I see you walking there.'

I complied; but said we must soon return to the house.

`No one will be down to breakfast yet, for long enough,' he answered. `You spoke of your guardians just now, Helen; but is not your father still living?'

`Yes, but I always look upon my uncle and aunt as my guardians, for they are so, in deed, though not in name, My father has entirely given me up to their care. I have never seen him since dear mamma died when I was a very little girl, and my aunt, at her request, offered to take charge of me, and took me away to Staningley, where I have remained ever since; and I don't think he would object to anything for me, that she thought proper to sanction.'

`But would he sanction anything to which she thought proper to object?'

`No, I don't think he cares enough about me.'

`He is very much to blame--but he doesn't know what an angel he has for his daughter--which all the better for me, as, if he did, he would not be willing to part with such a treasure.'

`And Mr Huntingdon,' said I, `I suppose you know I am not an heiress?'

He protested he had never given it a thought, and begged I would not disturb his present enjoyment by the mention of such uninteresting subjects, I was glad of this proof of disinterested affection; for Annabella Wilmot is the probable heiress to all her uncle's wealth, in addition to her late father's property, which she has already in possession.

I now insisted upon retracing our steps to the house; but we walked slowly, and went on talking as we proceeded. I need not repeat all we said: let me rather refer to what passed between my aunt and me, after breakfast, when Mr Huntingdon called my uncle aside, no doubt to make his proposals, and she beckoned me into another room, where she once more commenced a solemn remonstrance which, however, entirely failed to convince me that her view of the case was preferable to my own.

`You judge him uncharitably, aunt, I know,' said I. `His very friends are not half so bad as you represent them. There is Walter Hargrave, Milicent's brother, for one: he is but a little lower than the angels, if half she says of him is true. She is continually talking to me about him, and lauding his many virtues to the skies.'

`You will form a very inadequate estimate of a man's character,' replied she, `if you judge by what a fond sister says of him. The worst of them generally know how to hide their misdeeds from their sister's eyes, and their mother's too.'

`And there is Lord Lowborough,' continued I, `quite a decent man.'

`Who told you so? Lord Lowborough is a desperate man. He has dissipated his fortune in gambling and other things, and is now seeking an heiress to retrieve it. I told Miss Wilmot so; but you're all alike: she haughtily answered she was very much obliged to me, but she believed she knew when a man was seeking her for her fortune, and when for herself; she flattered herself she had had experience enough in those matters to be justified in trusting to her own judgment--and as for his lordship's lack of fortune, she cared nothing about that, as she hoped her own would suffice for both; and as for his wildness, she supposed he was no worse than others--besides he was reformed now.--Yes, they can all play the hypocrite when they want to take in a fond, misguided woman!'