As she drew near Charlton, she endeavoured to compose herself, but in vain: when she looked to the future, all was so dark and hopeless, and she was so strongly impressed with the idea that she should never see Fitzhenry again, that she felt her heart sink within her; and, quite overpowered, and fearful of betraying her secret to her parents, she more than once thought of stopping the carriage. But whither could she go? Fitzhenry had allowed her to depart. It seemed, indeed, even his wish that she should go; and, unsolicited, she could not return. On they drove. It was a beautiful bright Sunday; every one around her seemed to be enjoying the day in gladness and gratitude. The roads and fields were filled with joyous groups, the air with gay sounds. “Do I sin in loving him so entirely, so passionately?” thought Emmeline; “that amid so many that rejoice, I alone am doomed to be miserable?” In uttering these words, perhaps Emmeline _did sin_. But it is the sin into which suffering betrays us all. The wretched are hidden, or hide themselves, from our view; and when, in sorrow, we look around us, we compare our situation with those only who happen, at that moment, to be basking in the transitory sunshine of cheerfulness. How many, as Emmeline’s gay equipage drove rapidly by, probably coveted her riches, her luxuries, her youth, and her beauty! while she envied the ragged, laughing beggar-boy, by the road-side, who, as her carriage passed, tossed his naked arms in the air, hallooing, in pure gaiety of heart and enjoyment of existence. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER III. Has thy heart sickened with deferred hope? Or felt th’ impatient anguish of suspense? Or hast thou tasted of the bitter cup Which Disappointment’s withered hands dispense? Thou knowest the poison which o’erflowed from hence O’er Psyche’s tedious, miserable hours. PSYCHE. WHEN Emmeline arrived at her father’s, the servant informed her, that both Mr. and Mrs. Benson were out in the carriage, but were expected home before dinner. At that moment, she felt their absence was a relief, and hastily getting out of the carriage, she desired the coachman, on his return to town, immediately to ask whether Lord Fitzhenry had any orders for him—for she still fondly hoped, that on reading her note, he might follow her, and might himself wish for some explanation of what had passed the preceding evening.