I cannot adequately portray the nature of my feelings as I approached the home where I had never known anything but happiness until my meeting with Mansville; alternate hopes and fears racked my bosom. It was a beautiful morning; the sun shone forth in fall meridian splendor, and all nature seemed to wear a smile of gladness. When I came within sight of the village, my heart felt ready to burst, and suddenly the sound of pipes and tabors vibrated on my ears. Presently afterwards, a bridal procession approached towards the spot where I was, and stopped before the doors of one of my female companions, Ellen Greenley, and George Ashburne, who had long been her acknowledged lover. George Ashburne having thanked his friends for their kindness, the father of Ellen joined them. ‘Good morning to you, my dear child,’ said Mr. Greenley, kissing his daughter affectionately, and smiling upon his son-in-law elect, kindly; ‘may this prove a blessed day to you both. Go, lads and lasses, and gather the flowers to celebrate the ceremony.’ The villagers departed, and Mr. Greenley continued— ‘I’ll try if I can’t prevail upon Mr. Heywood, the unfortunate father of Clara, to come to your wedding; poor fellow! he may be compared to the ruined wing of the crazy old mansion-house he was converted into a farm, that looks down in gloomy silence upon the bright and smiling landscape which everywhere surrounds it. Ah! that sad girl! the flowers they go to gather are less frail than she has proved. My children be virtuous if you would be happy.’ Thus saying, the old man re-entered the cottage, but his words had been so many daggers to my heart. ‘Clara’s father,’ observed Ellen, when her father had left them, ‘ah! if our poor Clara herself were only here now, how her heart would rejoice in our happiness.’ ‘Don’t name her, Ellen,’ said George, ‘don’t name her; a virtuous girl’s lips ought not to be sullied by the mention of her name.’ ‘Ah! George,’ replied Ellen, ‘pity becomes the virtuous, and the more she has fallen, the more she deserves to be pitied.’ ‘Psha!’ cried George, ‘can’t you talk about something else?’ ‘A sad day it was when she went away,’ continued Ellen, ‘everybody was downcast, as if some great affliction had befallen the village.’ ‘More fools they,’ was George’s abrupt retort; ‘if you or I had gone, indeed, it might have afflicted them; now, Ellen, you shall not talk any more about her. Come, come, let us be going.’ Suddenly accumulating all my fortitude, I emerged from the place where I had concealed myself, and called upon Ellen by name. Both her and her lover started, and the former exclaimed in a tone of astonishment and alarm:— ‘Bless us! what’s that?’ ‘As I live,’ said her lover, ‘it is Clara Heywood, or her ghost!’ ‘Do not be alarmed, Ellen,’ I said, ‘but one word with you.’ ‘No, it’s she herself, as I’m alive,’ ejaculated Ellen: ‘but oh, how changed she is.’ ‘One word, dear Ellen,’ I repeated.