CHAPTER II.

Upon a tone,

A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow,
And his cheek change tempestuously.

BYRON.

II was shortly after my expulsion from school, that Lilias Young came on a visit to my sister. If ever a face were created which revealed at once its owner's soul, it was hers. Not a feature but what teemed with expression: when sad, the moist eye, the trembling lip, and the blanched cheek, spoke her sorrow more eloquently than a thousand words. She smiled, and you saw sadness pass away, like a cloud chased by the brightness of the sun. I loved her I became for a time an altered being-I would sit gazing on her fine countenance, motionless as a statue, until her eye caught mine, and she turned away with crimsoned cheek from the ardentness of my gaze. I listened to her low

voice-I watched each movement of her graceful form, as though a deity were speaking and moving in my presence. If she praised a flower, I saw in

it a hundred charms undiscovered before-if she but touched an object, however worthless, it became hallowed in my sight. I was sick with the intensity of my passion. For a time I feared to speak of my love, or entertain the slightest hope that I might gain the affections of Lilias Young. A few days were sufficient to conquer my dread, and I took a favourable opportunity to pour my secret in her ear. I prosecuted my passion with all the ardour of my wilful disposition. My sister seconded my suit, for she augured from it the happiest results, and I was soon gratified by ascertaining that I had wooed successfully.

Jealousy is said to be a proof of love. With some it may be so, but it is often the offspring of selfishness, of a nature envious of all happiness save its own-of capricious and narrow-minded beings who are discontented only because she whom they profess to regard, and whose welfare they profess to be anxious to promote, tastes of joy and gives way to innocent mirth at other moments than those brief intervals when they are willing to dispense it by their presence. A smile, a look, a kind word, bestowed on another by Lilias Young, kindled in me a train of stormy emotions.

I

would leave the room, and endeavour to stifle the feelings which agitated me-I would recall the assurances she had given me of her love, and strive to reason myself into calmness-all was in vain. That another should make glad that heart she had vowed was wholly mine-that another should meet the eloquence of those eyes which ought to gaze on me alone that another should raise a smile on those lips which I had pressed-the thought stung me to madness.

The term assigned for the stay of Lilias had long expired. A day for her return had often been fixed, and as often procrastinated. At length urgent letters from her parents obliged her to prepare for departure. We parted. I cannot paint the anguish which rent my bosom at our separation, and her ashy lips and faltering utterance told the agony of her soul, as she murmured her last farewell. She was gone, and existence seemed a blank to me.

I was returning home one night, soon after the departure of Lilias Young. The season was the beginning of summer, and a glorious flood of moonlight overspread every object. Nothing was heard save the low sighing of the wind amid the leafy branches, and so radiant and beautiful did everything appear, that I could have deemed heaven was using earth for its mirror. I stood mo

tionless, struck by the quiet and holy aspect of the scene. A sensation of melancholy, and a feeling of disgust for myself, came upon me, and I felt as though I were the sole dark and unlovely thing that defaced the landscape. I was young in years, but already steeped in sin, and bitter thoughts, such as I have often since felt-but, oh, a hundredfold in bitterness-gathered about my heart. It has ever been thus with me, that remorse was the keenest, that my conscience was the most stinging, when the scene was the brightest. In dark woods-in murky nights-amid howling blasts-on the waves of ocean, when in its stormiest moods, I have felt no compunctious visitings. Outward nature has seemed then to correspond and be in unison with my inward spirit. When the sun has been pouring down streams of splendour-when rivers have been sparkling, birds singing, flowers beautifying the earth and odouring the breeze-when merry voices have rung in my ears, and joy hath been everywhere, then my misery has been the keenest. The sun's rays have seemed streaks of arrowy fire hurled at my defenceless head-the rivers have been transformed into sulphureous lakes-the flowers have appeared like reproachful eyes, and the songs of birds, and merry voices, have pierced my brain like the screeches of torturing demons. Now I was transfixed to the

spot, and gazed around, thinking on the past, and musing on what I might become. The branches were holding forth blossoms-buds were sleeping at my feet, and all spoke of that approaching season when Nature scatters fragrance, loveliness, and plenty over the earth. I contrasted my own spring with that which had just terminated, and reflected that as yet I had germinated little but noisome and poisonous weeds, which would hereafter, in all probability, produce nauseous deformity and blight. My meditations were interrupted, A stone, thrown by a strong hand, rattled through the branches, and fell harmless at my feet. I took it up-it was a destructive missile, and evidently meant to work mischief upon me. I immediately began to search around quickly and vigilantly, but no one was to be seen. It was a slight circumstance, and I mention it but as the forerunner of a series of annoyances, proceeding from the same source, which have been a bane to my existence, coming upon me at times and in places where I could least calculate upon them. Not being able to effect a discovery, and the train of thought into which I had fallen being broken, I hastily resumed my journey, and soon reached my father's house.