Even the savage, to whom the wild humanity of the desert offers no law but that of might, and the restraints of civilised life are unknown, is endowed by nature with a perfect consciousness of his free agency; and though, from his degraded position, he is no way subject to any artificial prompture, the attendant sense of a supreme and over-ruling genius is ever before him. Much more sensibly does this intuitive monitor press itself on the faculties of the cultivated mind. In reclaimed man, surrounded by the light of civilization, it inspires at once a confidence and a dread; and, if heedfully and properly regarded, renders him proof to every temptation, and dignified under every sorrow. When, on the morning after her parting from Hildebrand, Evaline de Neville learned that her father had been removed from the gaol of Exeter to the metropolis, and the cup of pleasure which she had been about to drink was thus dashed unexpectedly from her lips, her grief was deep and bitter; but, excessive as it was, it did not reduce her to despair. She did not, it is true, hear the intelligence with composure, but she met it with fortitude. Her mind seemed suddenly to acquire additional nerve; and through all its varied faculties, and beautiful proportions, to be strengthened and braced up against the pressure of the occasion. She was alone; and she naturally gave a thought to those estimable friends--for such she considered them--who had been with her on the previous night, and whose presence and assurances had filled her with hope and joy. The reflection served only to render her present loneliness and solitude more painfully apparent. Her bosom was pierced by a new anguish, apart from the grief she felt for her father, as she asked herself where were those friends now? Where was Hildebrand, whose arm, undeterred by the presence of danger, had before lent her such effectual succour? Her eyes filled with tears as she reflected that he was no longer within her call.