Here Ellen started from her chair, her clasped hands, glowing cheeks, and throbbing bosom, bespeaking an indignant agitation, which would not be controlled. Ross, gently reseating her, said, "Ellen, I wrong not you; I wrong not him, so much as to imagine such a possibility; but there are men, who, though they lead not so decidedly to guilt, yet lead as certainly to misery acute as aught but guilt can make it: and that only for the gratification of a mean and sordid vanity, inconceivable by such as have not witnessed its effects. I had once a sister, Ellen, fair almost as yourself, as gentle, and as virtuous; possessed of a sensibility that was at once her grace and her misfortune. In early life, it fortuned that she met with one of those practised deceivers, who united talents the most superior to manners the most enchanting. By a long series of quiet and silent attentions, by studying her tastes, devoting his time to her, he, without ever addressing to her a word of love, led her, and all who knew her, to believe he was her lover, and would be her husband. At last she was told that such was his usual practice, when he met with any woman who was superior to those around her; but she felt indignant at the accusation, and would not believe it till that belief was forced upon her, by seeing him going over the same ground with another. 'She pined in thought;' and a hectic complaint, to which she was subject, gained fast upon her. A mutual friend came to an explanation with him, while the mean wretch declared he had never made any profession to her, and never even thought of marrying her; but that the world would talk, and he wondered she did not despise it, as he did. A few months terminated the existence of the injured creature. Sweet Emily! thy gentle spirit fled to those regions where no deceit could further betray thee. The wretch at last met his fate in a duel with the brother of one whom he had sought to mislead, as he had done the unfortunate Emily." Ross's voice here failed, and both were silent. "Assure yourself, Ellen," at length resumed Ross, "I was not blind to your talents, and your love of knowledge; and many have been my struggles against the strong inclination I felt to become your instructor. My own children had not, I easily saw, such minds as yours, and I longed to cultivate your vigorous understanding. I resisted, though the temptation was aided by the wish I felt to secure to myself a future companion and assistant in the studies I best loved. Why, Ellen, did I resist? What was the powerful motive which prevented my yielding to such united inducements? It was a wish to secure your welfare and your happiness, which I thought would be most certainly effected by limiting your acquirements to something like an equality with those amongst whom you seemed fated to live. I may have erred in judgment; and since the bent of your inclination so determinately points towards the