August the second.—No letter from Herbert,
again, this morning. What can it mean?
Surely he is not angry!

August the third.—No letter.

August the fourth.—Nothing again this
morning! It is not kind in Herbert. He might
be perfectly sure that my anxiety to hear from
him would be intense. Cousin Jane teases me
mercilessly about my " faithless bagman," as
she persists in calling him, and wants to know
when his professional travels may be
expected to bring him to Burnbank, as she
intends to patronise him to the extent of ten
shillings worth of cheap calico. If he only
would come, this silly, vexing talk would be
set at rest for ever.

Sir Edward Singleton inflicted himself
upon us this morning for full two hours—
such an incubus! I feel very dull to-day,
and cannot help harassing myself with idle
specula———

August the fifth.—While I was writing in
my journal, yesterday afternoon, Mary
Burton came up and knocked at the door,
saying:

"If you please, Miss Eleanor, there is a
gentleman who wishes to see you. I have
showed him into the library;" and she
handed me in a card, "Mr. Herbert Clay."

I ran down-stairs in an instant, full of
delight and happiness; but there was soon
an end to all that! He received me frigidly.
Oh! I can't describe how it was, or how I
felt! Only I sat down, and all my colour
went as I looked in his face. He began to
speak in a stiff, constrained way, about that
being the earliest opportunity he had had of
seeing me since he had received my letter,
and before he had time to say three sentences,
Cousin Jane appeared—curiosity brought
her. I introduced them, and the next
moment Grannie, having learnt from Mary
Burton who was come, entered too. She
looked her loftiest and sat down opposite to
Herbert, as if she intended to stay as long as
he did. Cousin Jane was laughing internally,
for she had discernment enough to see that
she had interrupted a very critical interview,
and having possessed herself of a book she
went away. Grannie made a few general
observations on the state of the atmosphere,
and then plunged into the main subject by
observing that Mr. Herbert Clay's visit was
an unexpected honour—her tone implied
that it was also undesired. Herbert kept his
temper wonderfully, and his countenance
too; as for me, there was nothing to do but
to sit it out as well as I could. I saw Grannie
meant that any explanation there might be
to make should pass in her presence. I held
my peace, and Grannie said that she had
understood from me he sought an alliance with
her family, but that his strongly objected to
it; for her part, her objections were equally
strong—stronger possibly than any Mr. and
Mrs. Clay entertained.

Herbert passed that over, and came
straight to the pith of what he had to say,
and said it with a manly pride and feeling
which made my heart thrill. "When I asked
Eleanor Clare to be my wife I did so under
the impression that I should be able to raise
her to an independent home,—that, in fact,
she was without fortune, and that I could
make her happy. Since then, I have learnt
from herself that her position is different,—
changes our relations to each other entirely,—"

"Our positions are what they always were,"
I interrupted, but Grannie stopped me with
a warning look, and he went on as if I had
never spoken,—"and this being the case, I am
ready, if she desire it, to release her from
her engagements."

I was startled, shocked inexpressibly, and the
blood flew into my face; but, standing up, I
replied with as much pride and dignity as
I could muster, "I accept your resignation,
sir."

I did believe, until he said that, his love for
me would have outweighed all other
considerations; but it seemed that I deceived myself.

Grannie added, "I must say that my grand-
child has replied as is most fitting she should
reply to your curt rejection of her." Herbert
attempted to speak, but she would not
permit him. "It is a rejection, sir,—it is an
insult! If I had been in your place I would
have known how to value her better than to
lose her for a scruple of pride!"

To think of Grannie saying that! and so
fierce she looked! Herbert would have his
word now, and said a few phrases which
showed all he felt; but Grannie did not take
them in their right sense; so I said, "Fear
no misunderstanding from me, Herbert Clay, I
know your sentiments. You will give your
wife all, and accept from her nothing but
herself—it may be very chivalrous;" and
then I felt sarcastic and bitter, and miserable,
and Grannie gave him a haughty, "Good
day to you, sir," and he departed. Did I not
always say that Ferndell would be the
plague and sorrow of my life? but I did not
think it would take this turn of all others. So
that is over and done with—Love's young
dream!

August the sixth.—Last night I felt angry,
proud, and stung to the quick. It was
honourable in Herbert Clay, but somehow I
would rather he had not found it so easy to
give me up, that he had proved more selfish
in fact; but that would not have been like
himself. There has been a total silence on
the subject since he went. Grannie is relieved
probably, but she will not show it; and
Cousin Jane has given up teasing. I could
not bear it. I don't feel disposed to fret or
seek retirement for what has happened; my
spirit is up and resentful. I wonder how
Herbert bears it, for, say what he will, I
know he loves me. We are a pair of proud
young fools! Perhaps he expected me to