It was thus I sometimes saw my cousin Edith. Her great loveliness and rich attire impressed me strongly. Her room was below mine. I daily heard her, like a fair lady in her bower, playing on her lute, or warbling sweet songs; she was the beauty and enchanted princess of all my fairy tales; yet, when we met, the only notice she took of me was a cold and gentle "How are you, dear?" the reply to which she never stopped to hear. She generally walked with Mrs. Digby, who, drawing her attention to my evident admiration, never failed to observe as they passed by me, "The child can't take her eyes off you, Ma'am." "Hush! Digby," invariably replied the fair Edith, in a tone implying that she disapproved of the liberty, although the sweetness of her disposition induced her to forgive it. Mrs. Digby, however, persisted in repeating her offence, even when I was not looking, and was always checked with the same gentleness. One day, when I came down, I found Miss Grainger no longer in the company of Mrs. Digby, but sitting in an arbour with a fair and fashionable lady of thirty, or so, whom she called Bertha, and who, after eyeing me through her gold eye-glass, impressively observed, as, without noticing them, I took my usual place: "Edith, such are the consequences of love- matches! Mr. Langton--" "But he is so old, Bertha," interrupted Edith, pouting. "So I thought of Mr. Brand, when I married him; but it is not generous to be always thinking of age. Ah! love is very selfish, Edith." Miss Grainger raised her handkerchief to her eyes. "My dearest girl," said the lady, "be generous; be unselfish. Mr. Langton will be so kind--he has the means, you know,--and poor Edward--poor in every sense--can only--Edward, what brought you here?" She addressed the same young man whom I had admitted, and who had now suddenly stepped from behind the arbour where the two ladies sat. He gave the speaker an angry look, and taking the hand of my cousin, he hastily led her away down one of the garden paths, talking earnestly. The lady bit her lip, followed them with a provoked glance, and stood waiting their return. She had to wait some time. At length young Mr. Thornton appeared; he looked pale, desperate, strode past the lady, opened the gate by which I stood, entered the grounds, leaped over a fence, and vanished. Edith came up more slowly. She was crying, and looked frightened. The lady went up to her. "Well!" she said, eagerly. "Edward says he'll kill himself!" sobbed Edith. "My dear," sighed her friend, "Arthur said so too when we parted. He is alive still. I am Edward's sister, and yet, you see, I am quite easy. Do not fret, dear. You must come with me to the Mitfords this evening." "I can't, Bertha." "My dearest girl, you must. It is extremely selfish to brood over sorrow." With this she kissed her, and they entered the house together.