At length the time came when Emily could escape from the gay throng; and endeavour, in the quiet of her own room, to be once more calm, before she prepared to leave her much-loved home. The preparations made, a note was despatched to her brother, begging him to meet her in the library. As he did so, a fresh pang shot through Delmé's heart. As he looked on Emily's flushed face--her dewy cheek--and noted her agitated manner; he for the first time perceived, her very strong resemblance to poor George, and wondered that he had never observed this before. Clarendon announced the carriage. "God bless you! dear Henry!" "God bless and preserve you! my sweet! Clarendon! good bye! I am sure you will take every care of her!" In another moment, the carriage was whirling past the library window; and Sir Henry felt little inclined, to join the formal party in the drawing-room. Sending therefore a brief message to Mrs. Glenallan, he threw open the library window, and with hurried steps reached a summer-house, half hidden in the shrubbery. He there fell into a deep reverie, which was by no means a pleasurable one. He thought of Emily--of George--of Acmé,--and felt that he was becoming an isolated being. And had _he_ not loved too? As this thought crossed him, his ambitious dreams were almost forgotten. Sir Henry Delmé was aroused by the sound of voices. A loving couple, too much engaged to observe _him_, passed close to the summer-house. It was the "Queen of the May," the prettiest and one of the poorest girls in the parish, walking arm in arm with her rural swain. They had left the "roasted beeves," and the "broached casks," for one half-hour's delicious converse. There was some little coquettish resistance on the part of the girl, as they sat down together at the foot of a fir tree. Her lover put his arm round her waist. "Oh! Mary! if father would but give us a cow or so!" This little incident decided the matter. Delmé at once resolved that Mary Smith _should_ have a cow or so; and also that his own health would be greatly benefited, by a short sojourn at Leamington. Chapter XV. The Meeting. "Oh ever loving, lovely, and beloved! How selfish sorrow ponders on the past, And clings to thoughts now better far removed, But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last." We know not whether our readers have followed us with due attention, as we have incidentally, and at various intervals, made our brief allusion to the gradual change of character, wrought on Delmé, by the eventful scenes in which he so lately played a prominent part. When we first introduced him to our reader's notice, we endeavoured to depict him as he then really was,--a man of strong principles, warm heart, and many noble qualities; but one, prone to over-estimate the value of birth and fortune--with a large proportion of pride and reserve--and with ideas greatly tinctured with the absurd fallacies of the mere man of the world.