Mrs. Gillett was rocking in her chair in agony; her position exceeded any thing embarrassing she had ever conceived. What could she do? Here she was locked in with a desperate man, who only said "must." How could she ever reconcile this difficulty to practicable action? how bind this wild horse to her daily care of every body's necessities? their calls upon her to bear their burthens--her carrier's cart of packages--she was in fearful perplexity. "Is there any thing so dreadful in my demand?" he asked. "Let it be here, for five minutes. We met yesterday--you know we did, though you would not recognise me. She will not refuse, I know." "Can't you say what you have to say through the passan, Master Miles," she uttered at last, struggling for a straw. "No; I must see herself. Why do you fear me so much? Do you suppose I would insult, or injure one, whom report says so good and kind--a woman, too? Fie Mrs. Gillett--fie! to wrong me so much, the man you've known from boyhood." "Oh! Master Miles, it ain't that--it ain't, indeed; but we oftentimes harms without meaning it," and she looked meaningly at him. He seemed to awaken as from a dream. "You cannot suppose," he cried, "that I, a poor outcast now, come here to woo any woman; still less Miss Dalzell, whose whole family are my bitterest enemies. I tell you no, Mrs. Gillett; I have no such thought. From all I have heard--the little I saw of her yesterday, for the first time--I respect, admire, and reverence Miss Dalzell, but more I never shall now--I have another at heart." He alluded to his self-imposed task of duty and love, to re-establish his mother's fame. "You a'n't deceiving me, Master Miles," she said looking up, mistaking his meaning. "I solemnly assure you I am not." "Oh, then, there can be no harm, that I see!" she cried confidently. Alas! poor Mrs. Gillett, she had but skin-deep knowledge of the human heart. Not seeing that what we should avoid, we fly to--what hate, generally love, if cast in our path--ties, vows, resolutions--all are things created, but to be immolated on love's altar. "There she just is!" she exclaimed, looking from the window; "she's come round by the shrubbery into the fruit-garden, and Lady Dora's with her." "Lady Dora!" he ejaculated, looking surprised, and going to the window. "Come back, Master Miles, do, come back," she cried; "I wouldn't have Miss Minnie's cousin see you for the world, in here." "Is that Miss Dalzell's cousin?" he again asked, gazing from his corner at the two wandering together at the end of a long walk. "Lady Dora Vaughan, Lady Ripley's daughter,--true," he added after a pause, talking aloud, "I have a faint memory of the name here; but boys do not recollect these things as in after years; the name seemed familiar to me in Italy." "Lauks!" exclaimed Mrs. Gillett, "have you met Lady Dora before?"