not weep. Theresa, in evident astonishment, raised her tearful eyes to her who thus addressed her in the voice of kindness, and then, as if impelled by an emotion she could not command, on a sudden threw herself into her arms. Miss Trevelyan, greatly moved at this unexpected burst of feeling in one who had hitherto appeared to be a mere automaton, most warmly returned her embrace. In an instant a thousand benevolent schemes passed through her mind; but her natural shiness and solitary habits, every peculiarity of her nature, in short, rose to counteract them, and checked the kind offers that were trembling on her lips. Again there was a long pause.

At length Theresa, wiping her eyes, thanked Miss Trevelyan for her great kindness to her; begged her, when she wrote, to give her duty to her guardian, and to assure him she would ever be guided by his will and wishes, as she had been by those of her Again her tears burst forth, and the word father could not be uttered.

Miss Birch, followed by a servant bringing in refreshments, at this moment entered. Had she been absent five minutes longer, probably Miss Trevelyan would have proffered to the poor orphan at least a temporary asylum under her roof; but Miss Birch seemed to possess the peculiar power of repressing every feeling of the heart by her presence. At her entrance Miss Trevelyan unconsciously left Theresa's side, and Theresa, hastily relinquishing her hand, which she had still held in hers, brushed away her tears, and resumed her former immovable attitude and impenetrable silence.

After Miss Trevelyan had partaken of the offered refreshments as far as she thought civility required, she rose to depart. Of course Theresa also then left her seat, but still remained fixed to the spot, appearing spell-bound in Miss Birch's presence. The usual civilities at parting took place. Miss Trevelyan longed to take a more tender leave of the poor girl; but such (owing to the seclusion of her life) was her extraordinary timidity, that as Theresa never moved from her place, she had not courage again to approach her, or give way to the feelings of kindness with which she had been inspired. When she reached the door

of the room, Miss Trevelyan again turned to look at Theresa, but she had then walked towards the window, her face was averted, she saw not the benevolent look which was cast on her - and thus they parted.

During her drive home, the kind-hearted Miss Trevelyan thought but of Theresa Howard. She dreamt of her all night; her tearful countenance haunted her all next day. It seemed so cruel to leave her at that odious school, and during the holydays too! Were she to pass but a fortnight of that time with her! one week-even a few days! But then what could she do with a girl of her age? how should she amuse her? how was it possible that any thing so young, and probably so gay, should have any pleasure in her society? should even get over the unfavourable impression which her appearance would naturally produce? And what a dreadful constraint it would be to have her constantly at her side -never to feel alone!

This conflict between sauvagerie and kindness continued some days; but at length the latter feeling prevailed. A letter was despatched to Miss Birch, with a proposal that Miss Howard should spend a few days with her at Richmond; and soon after the receipt of the answer Miss Trevelyan was again on the road to Clapham.

Of course all these movements of the quiet inhabitant of No. 1. did not escape the notice of her vigilant neighbours, reviving all that curiosity about her, which, for lack of fresh incidents to feed on, had in some degree died away. "What could she be about? where could she now be always driving to-she, who never used to go out in her carriage from one month's end to another?" And when, upon Miss Trevelyan's return after her second expedition, a young person was seen to follow her out of the chaise, and a trunk to be taken out of the boot, all the sisterhood were up in arms. "Well, certainly Miss Trevelyan is the strangest and most mysterious person that ever existed! No wonder she found it dull living alone, for that any one could have foretold; but why could she not associate with her neighbours, instead of going the Lord knows where to fetch the Lord knows who?"

It was then recollected that there was madness in the

Trevelyan family, for Mrs. Hopkins was quite sure there had once been a very queer old admiral of that name. And thus was Miss Trevelyan, in the course of six months, pronounced to be fine and exclusive, methodistical and mad; while she, careless as to the opinions and even existence of her neighbours, was too much self-engrossed to suspect that she could excite curiosity in any one, or be the object of conversation, or animadversion of any sort.

DURING the first twenty-four hours of this new companionship, that glow of heart which ever attends the consciousness of having performed a kind action, made it appear delightful to Miss Trevelyan; and Theresa, laughing and crying by turns, was quite moving in her expressions of gratitude.

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A re-action, however, soon took place. Miss Trevelyan's spirits had been unusually excited, they now sank in proportion, and she longed for that silence and solitude which habit had rendered so congenial to her mind. converse was irksome and fatiguing, for she and her new companion had not of course one subject in common. To be silent was worse; for beside her was one whom she felt she ought to entertain, whose presence therefore worried her nerves, and was a weight on her mind. Had Miss Trevelyan then given way to her inclination, she would, probably long before the expiration of the week, have again summoned the good-looking chaise, and sent poor Theresa back to her prison-house, under the charge of deaf John.

But her Christian charity here interposed. She re

membered that it "endured all things, hoped all things." She therefore submitted to the evil which she had drawn upon herself, resolving to make the best of what was now unavoidable; and her principles were not put to a severe test; for Theresa soon found such interesting occupation, that she ceased to be in the least a charge to her kind benefactress, and, merely by the consciousness of her presence, relieved her from that melancholy feeling of entire solitude, which had so often saddened her mind. Miss Birch, at her elegant establishment for young ladies, kept those belonging to it in a state of such entire abstinence from all books but those of mere education (from motives of parsimony as well as prudence), that Theresa had never yet read any narrative possessing greater interest than Hume's history of England. One day while amusing herself in looking over the books in Miss Trevelyan's room, she chanced to light upon Madame de Staël's Corinne ; her attention was soon arrested by it, and, after reading sufficiently for her imagination to be set on fire, she flew with the precious volume into the garden, in order to enjoy in the luxury of entire solitude the intoxicating pleasure which such a composition cannot fail to excite in a young ardent mind! Her heart beat at the recital of Corinne's talents and triumphs-her tears flowed at her sorrows, and her Italian blood glowing at the description of her own beautiful maternal country, she was so entirely engrossed by the lecture, that time flew unheeded by, and when at length five o'clock struck, it was almost as disagreeable to her to tear herself from the precious volume for that vulgar thing called dinner, as it was to her melancholy companion to leave her solitary meditations in order to perform the duties of an hostess. No sooner was the repast over, than again the darling book was seized, and Miss Trevelyan was allowed unmolested to pass the evening wrapt in reverie and her large shawl, on her bench under her favourite catalpa tree.

Thus by degrees Theresa, perfectly happy in her new life, gradually ceased to be in Miss Trevelyan's way, or to oppress her mind, and she, on her part, almost unconsciously began to lose somewhat of her abstraction. She sometimes

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watched with real pleasure the gay gambols which took place in the garden between Theresa and her little dog, who, delighted at having a playfellow, had actually, during the last ten days, grown ten years younger (according to dog computation of time), and no longer lay snoring at the feet of his sedentary mistress. And when Miss Trevelyan caught the sounds of Theresa's flexible voice, caroling (as she moved about the house), some gay Venetian ballad, which her quick Italian ear had caught, as if by instinct, from some strolling musician, she would lay down her serious contemplative book, break the train of her habitually gloomy thoughts, and listen to her clear, fresh, young voice, till it imparted to her a sensation of gladness. Thus from becoming used to Theresa's society, she soon grew to require it; soon felt it a pleasure, on waking of a morning, to think that she should be welcomed at breakfast by the bright smile of happy youth; that she should receive Theresa's warm-hearted kiss on her cheek; that she had some one to speak to some one to listen to.

And Theresa's society had done more for Miss Trevelyan than all this; more than perhaps she was herself aware of. On the first arrival of her lovely young companion, weak human nature, attacking her at her most vulnerable point, and before principle had time to check the rebellious feeling, surprised Miss Trevelyan into many a melancholy comparison and reflection as she gazed on her beautiful form, and even some tears, almost unconsciously to herself, had occasionally stolen down her meek face, when exaggerating all the advantages it promised her in this life, and the consequent cruel deprivations of her own lot. But when she found that this lovely being, far from shrinking from her with that antipathy which she had so erroneously anticipated, expressed by every means in her power, not only the most touching respect but the tenderest affection for her person, the mortified self-disgust which she had so long entertained, and which solitude had nurtured, died insensibly away. The possibility of being preferred, of being loved, broke in upon her blighted heart, and lit it up with such a vivifying feeling of gratitude, as to produce in consequence a degree of resignation and even content