Adeline, oppressed and awed beyond measure at the unusual solemnity of his manner, made no answer; but, leaning her cheek on his hand, awaited his communication in silence. 'I think,' said Glenmurray, 'I shall begin with telling you Berrendale's history; it is proper that you should know all that concerns him.' Adeline raising her head, replied hastily,--'Not to satisfy any curiosity of mine; for I feel none, I assure you.' 'Well, then,' returned Glenmurray, sighing, 'to please me, be it.--Berrendale is the son of my mother's sister, by a merchant of the neighbourhood of the 'Change, who hurt the family pride so much by marrying a tradesman, that I am the only one of the clan who has noticed her since. He ran away, about four years ago, with the only child of a rich West Indian from a boarding-school. The consequence was, that her father renounced her; but, when, three years ago, she died in giving birth to a son, the unhappy parent repented of his displeasure, and offered to allow Berrendale, who from the bankruptcy and sudden death of both his parents had been left destitute, an annuity of 300_l._ for life, provided he would send the child over to Jamaica, and allow him to have all the care of his education. To this Berrendale consented.' 'Reluctantly, I hope,' said Adeline, 'and merely out of pity for the feelings of the childless father.' 'I hope so too,' continued Glenmurray; 'for I do not think the chance of inheriting all his grandfather's property a sufficient reason to lead him to give up to another, and in a foreign land too, the society and education of his child: but, whatever were his reasons, Berrendale acceded to the request, and the infant was sent to Jamaica; and ever since the 300_l._ has been regularly remitted to him: besides that, he has recovered two thousand and odd hundred pounds from the wreck of his father's property; and with economy, and had he a good wife to manage his affairs for him, Berrendale might live very comfortably.' 'My dear Glenmurray,' cried Adeline impatiently, 'what is this to me? and why do you weary yourself to tell me particulars so little interesting to me?' Glenmurray bade her have patience, and continued thus: 'And now, Adeline,' (here his voice evidently faltered,) 'I must open my whole heart to you, and confess that the idea of leaving you friendless, unprotected, and poor, your reputation injured, and your peace of mind destroyed, is more than I am able to bear, and will give me, in my last moments, the torments of the damned.' Here a violent burst of tears interrupted him; and Adeline, overcome with emotion and surprise at the sight of the agitation which his own sufferings could never occasion in him, hung over him in speechless woe. 'Besides,' continued Glenmurray, recovering himself a little, 'I--O Adeline!' seizing her cold hand, 'can you forgive me for having been the means of blasting all your fair fame and prospects in life?'