The stranger was a visitor at Lord Coverdale’s, and at dinner he mentioned having seen this lovely widow in the green lane. “Oh, it must have been Mrs. Cresford,” said Lady Coverdale; “she is our clergyman’s sister-in-law, and they say she is very handsome. I am dying to see her, but she never appears when I call on Mrs. Allenham. Her husband was one of the _detenus_, and the poor man died six or seven months ago in France.” Mr. Hamilton left Coverdale Park the next day, but “Those eyes of deep and most expressive blue,” came between him and his midnight dreams “Oftener than any other eyes he ever knew.” Ellen returned to her cottage, where she still continued to reside, devoting great part of her liberal jointure to the assistance of her father, and to the advancement of her brothers in their various professions. The eldest was active and industrious, and was, through her means, enabled to become a partner, though but to a small amount, in the concern. The first year of Ellen’s widowhood had more than expired, and she again visited her sister and Mr. Allenham. She had changed her mourning, and etiquette no longer required that she should persevere in her seclusion. She now accompanied the Allenhams when they dined at Coverdale Park, and all who met her were struck by her beauty and attracted by her manners. Though her countenance still retained its habitually pensive expression, a smile would now occasionally light up her features, and he must have been a cold critic who could perceive any fault in the perfection of her loveliness. One day when they arrived at Coverdale Park, Ellen found herself greeted with a bow of profound respect, and a smile of recognition, by a tall, distinguished looking man, of whom she had not the slightest recollection. She acknowledged his salutation in the polite, half-doubting manner which is usual on such an occasion. Lady Coverdale immediately introduced him as Mr. Hamilton, and added that he had returned from a solitary ride last year, quite enchanted with her noble boy, who had so fearlessly brought him his hat, under the very feet of his horse. Ellen remembered the circumstance, and the name of Hamilton fell on her ear as being connected with a romantic history, not common in these unchivalrous days. Mr. Hamilton, when scarcely twenty, had taken his only sister to Naples for the recovery of her health. After having watched her gradual decline with tender and almost feminine attention, he had committed to the grave the remains of his only near relation, and found himself, without any tie, alone in a foreign land, at the moment when Buonaparte’s invasion of Italy had awakened the love of liberty, which though slumbering, was not totally extinguished in the souls of a few of her sons. With the true English spirit which considers as brethren those engaged in the struggle for freedom, he felt warmly for that lovely land— Italia a cui feo la sorte Dono infelice di beltà!