He reached over the table, and took from among two or three loose papers, which yet lay before Emmeline, a little blue enamelled case, which he concluded contained a miniature of Delamere, of whom several had been drawn. Emmeline, absorbed in tears, did not oppose it. The spring of the case was defective. It opened in his hand; and presented to his view, not a portrait of his son, but of his brother, drawn when he was about twenty, and at a period when he was more than a brother--when he was the dearest friend Lord Montreville had on earth. A likeness so striking, which he had not seen for many years, had an immediate effect upon him. His brother seemed to look at him mournfully. A melancholy cast about the eye-brows diminished the vivacity of the countenance, and the faded colour (for the picture had been painted seven and twenty years) gave it a look of languor and ill health; such perhaps as the original wore before his death, when a ruined constitution threatened him for some months, tho' his life terminated by a malignant fever in a few hours. The poor distrest Emmeline was the only memorial left of him; and Lord Montreville felt her tears a reproach for his cruelty in thus threatening to abandon to her fate, the unhappy daughter of this once loved brother. Sir Richard Crofts and Lady Montreville were not by, to intercept these sentiments of returning humanity. He found the tears fill his eyes as he gazed on the picture. Emmeline, insensible of every thing, saw it not; and not conscious that he had taken it, the purport of his last words she believed to relate to a sketch she had herself made of Delamere. She was therefore surprized, when Lord Montreville arising, took her hand, and in a voice that witnessed the emotion of his soul, said--'Come, my dear Emmeline, pardon me for thus distressing you, you shall _not_ be compelled to marry Mr. Rochely if you have so great a dislike to him. You shall still have an adequate support; and I trust I shall have nothing to fear from your indiscretion in regard to Delamere.' 'Your Lordship,' answered Emmeline, without taking her handkerchief from her eyes, 'has never yet found me capable of falsehood: I will repeat, if you desire it, the promise I gave you--I will even take the most solemn oath you shall dictate, never to be the wife of Mr. Delamere, unless your Lordship and Lady Montreville consent.' 'I take your promise,' answered his Lordship, 'and shall rely firmly upon it. But Emmeline, you must go from hence for your own sake; your peace and reputation require it; Delamere must not frequent the house where you are: you must conceal from him the place of your abode.'