——Love’s sooner felt than seen: Oft in a voice he creeps down through the ear; Oft from a blushing cheek he lights his fire; Oft shrouds his golden flame in likest hair; Oft in a soft, smooth cheek doth close retire; Oft in a smile, oft in a silent tear; And if all fail, yet virtue’s self will lure! PHINEAS FLETCHER. Caroline was now seven-and-twenty, and she had many histories to pour into Ellen’s ear of the deceitful conduct of sundry naval or military heroes, and briefless barristers. One old nabob had laid his fortune at her feet, but he was too disagreeable, and she preferred even the eternal household bills, and the last finish of Matilda’s education, and the increased peevishness of her father’s temper to being the wife of Mr. Pierson. But there was a person—a most amiable man—a clergyman, who had long appeared to prefer her—who did not pay her compliments, but who often visited them in their quiet home, and who admired her for qualities which had never attracted the notice of the captains nor the majors—her patience, her sweet temper, and her absence of selfishness. She owned to Ellen that, if circumstances ever enabled him to come forward, she should rejoice in the chances which had prevented her marrying earlier. In the course of a short time Ellen had an opportunity of becoming personally acquainted with Mr. Allenham, and she thought her sister would indeed be a fortunate woman if she should ever become his wife. To Ellen his intentions seemed manifest; but Caroline, who had so often been deceived, scarcely ventured to believe what she so much wished: all pleasure in the society of others was, however, completely gone, and she sighed to fix the affections which had so long been without a resting-place upon a person for whom she could feel entire respect, and in whom she could place complete reliance. Caroline was now as little inclined to mix in the world as Ellen, and Mr. Cresford would have been satisfied, if he could have witnessed the retirement in which they lived. He had not been gone more than a month, when the sudden renewal of hostilities gave rise to the greatest alarm among those who had friends upon the Continent. Still, no one was prepared for that gross violation of all the usual courtesies between civilised nations, of all the charities of human life, which astounded the European world, when Buonaparte detained the harmless traveller, the peaceable merchant, and doomed them to drag out the best years of their lives in weary, unprofitable imprisonment at Verdun, or in the fortress of La Bitche.