The Earl of Nithsdale was approaching the age of thirty. He had visited Paris, he had travelled in Italy, he had passed some time in Germany. There was a singularity in the eye-brows, whose darkness had already attracted Amy's notice, and the clear but melancholy blue eyes which they shaded, in the pale complexion, and the expression of sadness about the mouth, which had proved irresistible to many a foreign fair one. He had often won unwooed the hearts of those Parisian belles, who were not devoted to the dreary court decorum prevalent during the reign of Madame de Maintenon; while many of the more glowing beauties of Italy had absolutely courted the favour of the young Englishman, and many a sentimental German seemed ready to yield her heart, almost before he could lay siege to it. In his early youth he had not failed to profit by the advances which were thus made to him; but his was not a character which could long find pleasure in such conquests. He had an innate preference for virtue and purity; his disposition was naturally enthusiastic and contemplative. The gay, the thoughtless, passing attachments to which we have alluded, were not in unison with his mind. The sprightly Parisian was too volatile to make any lasting impression on such a heart, the Italian too little refined, the German too easily won; so that, though he had passed the first flush of youth, his real affections were still unhackneyed. He had accidentally found himself at Bruges when the Lady Lucy pronounced her vows, and was one of the assembly who crowded the church to witness the ceremony. Lady Winifred had been pointed out to him among the convent pensioners, as being sister to the young nun; and he had then remarked upon the innocence and purity of her countenance, and had thought within himself how much more attractive was such an expression than all the graces and fascinations which are meant to allure. If there is any foundation of virtue in the heart of a man, the more he has been thrown with the less respectable part of the sex, the more he has been exposed to their allurements, the more highly does he prize entire innocence when he meets with it, and the more strict is his line of demarcation between the modest, and those in whose conduct there may be any touch of levity. It might almost be taken as a touchstone of the original disposition, whether or not, through all the errors into which man, when tempted, is liable to fall, he yet preserves a quick perception of genuine purity, and also retains a taste and a veneration for it. Whatever may have been his aberrations, there is always hope that such a one will return to the path of virtue.