Miss Eliza fell forward, with her face in the old lady’s lap. She shook her head violently, her shoulders heaved, and smothered sobs broke out of all this commotion, like gusts of wind in a storm. All at once she started up and pushed the hair back from her face. “I see—I see,” she cried, “he has done this to clear the path—to get rid of a dangerous rival. Noble man! Splendid diplomacy! How could I have doubted him? Dear mother, do not look so astonished. I understand all this better than you can. Wait a little—wait a little, and you will know all.” She arose, after delivering this mysterious speech, and went into her own room, where the pendant cupid was vibrating with sudden spasms of motion, as a current of wind swept over it from an open window. Down Miss Eliza sat in her cozy chair, and, clasping her hands, looked upward, murmuring— “Yes, yes; I understand it all. He saw the devotion of this young man, and sought to evade rather than oppose the result. He knew that such feelings as absorbed that young heart would endanger his own domestic peace when we were once married; for how could this young man look on me, the happy and fondly cherished bride of another, and not allow his feelings of disappointment and regret to break forth? Besides, there must have been great dread of his success—not that Mr. Gould, the elder, need have feared. My soul always lifted itself above mere youth and good looks; but he was wise to sweep this young man from his path. Poor Georgiana! compelled to take up with the rejected suitor of another! Of course, it will be a marriage of convenience—the bridegroom will always have his memories; but I will keep out of the way; far be it from me to render him unhappy by forcing the contrast between what he has lost and what he has married upon him. As his uncle’s wife I will be forbearing, generous, and dignified. If he should ever attempt to allude to the hopes that his uncle has just quenched by this masterly stroke of policy, I will assert all the womanly grandeur of my nature, and wither him with a look half of pity, half of indignation.” Here Miss Eliza leaned back in her chair, folded both hands over her bosom, and, closing her eyes, fell into one of those soft, sweet reveries, which poets have called “Love’s Young Dream;” her feet rested on the ottoman cushion which usually performed a prominent part in these solitary tableaux. The cupid sailed to and fro over her head; the crimson cushions of her chair would have reflected the color on her cheeks but for a counter tint, a little less vivid, but quite as permanent, which baffled what might have been an artistic effect. In this position we leave Miss Eliza rich in expectations, which no disappointment could extinguish.