Glenmurray felt the change, but, though grieved, was not offended:--'I shall die in peace,' he cried, 'if I can but see you restored to your mother's affection, even though the surrender of my happiness is to be the purchase.' 'You shall die in peace!' replied Adeline shuddering. The phrase was well-timed, though perhaps undesignedly so. Adeline clung close to his arm, her eyes filled with tears, and all the way to the inn she thought only of Glenmurray with an apprehension which she could not conquer. 'What do you mean to do now?' said Glenmurray. 'Write to Dr Norberry. I think he will at least have humanity enough to let me know where to find my mother.' 'No doubt; and you had better write directly.' Adeline took up her pen. A letter was written,--and as quickly torn. Letter succeeded to letter; but not one of them answered her wishes. The dark hour arrived, and the letter remained unwritten. 'It is too soon to ring for candles,' said Glenmurray, putting his arm round her waist and leading her to the window. The sun was below the horizon, but the reflection of his beams still shone beautifully on the surrounding objects. Adeline, reclining her cheek on Glenmurray's arm, gazed in silence on the scene before her: when the door suddenly opened, and a gentleman was announced. It was now so dark that all objects were indistinctly seen, and the gentleman had advanced close to Adeline before she knew him to be Dr Norberry: and before she could decide how she should receive him, she felt herself clasped to his bosom with the affection of a father. Surprised and affected, she could not speak; and Glenmurray had ordered candles before Adeline had recovered herself sufficiently to say these words, 'After your conduct on the beach, I little expected this visit.' 'Pshaw!' replied the doctor: 'when a man out of regard to society has performed a painful task, surely he may be allowed, out of regard to himself, to follow the dictates of his heart.--I obeyed my head when I passed you so cavalierly, and I thought I should never have gone through my task as I did;--but then for the sake of my daughters, I gave a gulp, and called up a fierce look. But I told madam that I meant to call on you, and she insisted, very properly, that it should be in the dark hour.' 'But what of my mother?' 'She is a miserable woman, as she deserved to be--an old fool.' 'Pray do not call her so; to hear she is miserable is torment sufficient to me:--where is she?' 'Still at the Pavilion: but she is going to let Rosevalley, retire to her estate in Cumberland, and live unknown and unseen.' 'But will she not allow me to live with her?' 'What! as Mr Glenmurray's mistress? receive under her roof the seducer of her daughter?' 'Sir, I am no seducer.' 'No,' cried Adeline: 'I became the mistress of Mr Glenmurray from the dictates of my reason, not my weakness or his persuasions.'