‘Celia,’ I remarked, ‘if you knew what a home, what parents I had left, you’d pity me.’ ‘I do pity you, Miss,’ replied Celia, ‘indeed I do. Better days will come; you’ll be as happy as when you left them.’ I sighed, and shook my head with a look of despair, and then detailed to Celia the particulars of my flight from home, and the promises which the earl had made, but had hitherto failed to keep his word. ‘Be of good cheer, Miss, I pray,’ said Celia, ‘he will keep it, depend upon it.’ Celia spoke this with such a tone of confidence, that it forcibly struck me, and eagerly I exclaimed:— ‘Will he, Celia?—Now, don’t trifle with me—tell me the worst at once!—Better is present death, than hope deferred; still lingering on, still doomed to be deceived.’ ‘My dearest young Mistress,’ returned Celia, ‘there is plenty of time before you think of dying; and, as a proof that the earl don’t mean to deceive you, look here.’ And with these words, Celia presented me with a miniature of the earl, elegantly set round with diamonds, at the same time, adding:— ‘On a chamber-maid’s penetration, this nothing more or less than an earnest of the original.’ I took the miniature with transport, and my eyes became riveted upon it with admiration. Nothing could be more true than the delineation. ‘Ah!’ I observed, ‘precious to the fond one, is the semblance of the object held most dear. ’Tis the enchanter’s wand, which gathers around it in a magic circle, sweet recollections and feelings which make memory a paradise!—No, no!—treachery could never dwell in such a face!—I’ll trust him still. He cannot mean me false.’ ‘Shall I put this away, Miss?’ asked Celia, pointing to the village dress; ‘I am sure the earl would be hurt to see it here.’ ‘Yes, take it away, Celia,’ I replied, ‘I would not, for the world, do anything to make him uneasy.’ Celia immediately obeyed, and she had not been gone many minutes, when St. Clair entered the room, and advanced joyfully to meet me. ‘Ah, sir,’ I ejaculated, ‘why overwhelm me with gifts like these?—My humble habits shrink from such magnificence! This (pointing to the miniature,) is the only one I prize, the herald of a gift to follow, which shall restore me to my friends, my self-esteem;—my poor heart-broken parents.’ The earl turned away his head, doubtless to conceal the embarrassment which my words occasioned him, and then, in a tone which showed that he wished to change the subject, said:— ‘This is your birth-day, Clara.’ That word tore my wounds open! Oh! what a joyous day was it when I was at home! The farm seemed to be one smile of joy;—the sacred halo of a parent’s blessing descended on me with the morning sun; and even my birds, my flowers, my young companions,—all seemed to have a livelier look, and lift their heads rejoicing. These thoughts were too painful for my feelings, and I burst into tears. ‘Nay, Clara,’ observed the earl, ‘cheer thee, love!—banish that woe; discard that dread; rely upon my promise.’