IX. Inward turn thy thoughts, and lowly Gave thee strength thy woes to bear. Σ. Ardent Youth, with promise glowing- Set thee up thy way-marks-telling THE HERMIT OF WYSOX. MRS. JULIET H. L. CAMPBELL. 66 ELLEN, I warn you!" said Robert Dewart, to his sister. The haughty village beauty tossed her head, and rose with an angry pout, to leave the room. Robert strode to the door, turned the key, and placing it in his pocket, resumed his seat by the fire. "Now, sister," said he, swallowing some choking emotions, "you must hear me through; I have a right to speak, and it is your duty to listen: when our dying mother called me to her side, and placing your soft little hand in mine, implored me to be your protector, I vowed I would devote my life to you. A feeling of manliness took possession of my childish heart, and a new energy sprang up in my bosom, nerving me through the dark days that followed. You remember them, Ellen, you remember the childhood of toil, when, without a friend to smile on us, we were the world to each other. Now we are comfortable, in our own little home, and ought to be happy; but when I see your estrangement from me, I look back upon those cheerless days with regret." "We are both of us older, brother," said Ellen, some what softened; "and it is natural that we should form new attachments; you love Rose Miller, even as I love—” ! "Hush!" interrupted Robert; "I do love Rose Miller, and with God's blessing, will make her my wife! Would to Heaven you could as freely call down a blessing on your unhappy love!" "I don't know what you mean," said Ellen pettishly. "I mean this, sister: it is a harsh truth, but it must be spoken. This lover of your's will never make you his wife; he seeks only to lure you to dishonor!" "It is false!" said Ellen; "how dare you !"—and with her beautiful face and neck suffused with a crimson glow, she sought the door. Robert gazed with mingled pain and pleasure. Pleasure at the blush so eloquent of purity and innocence— pain at the implicit confidence of her womanly faith. "My sister-my child! I have not battled with the world from childhood without learning its ways! I know the truth of what I say. Is not St. Clair haughty, rich, and learned? Are you not humble, poor, and ignorant? Does the eagle mate with the sparrow? You have a fair face, and a loving heart, that may shed their sunshine in a poor man's home, as they have done in mine; then be contented with a lowly lot, marry within your station, and you will be its pride, and ornament! leave it, and disgrace, sorrow, and blight attend you!" Long and earnestly, the brother reasoned with his young charge, but ah! how unavailing! When did ever the voice of sober warning check the hoping youthful heart? With a confidence unshaken in the faith of her lover, and the purity of his intentions, Ellen retired to rest; and when Robert Dewart arose next morning, he stood with a sickened heart, in a deserted home-Ellen had fled! The hardships of early life he had borne with the energy of youth-poverty and adversity had failed to appal his hoping heart-and if, for a moment, his courage faltered, the thought of his sister's sweet dependence, had nerved and urged him on. But she had fled! despised his counsel, outraged his affection, and bowed his despairing spirit to the dust! Henceforth, the world must be dark to him, who had been deserted and disgraced by the child of his adoption. So felt Robert Dewart, as each day he went forth to his wearying toil, and returned to his cheerless rest, avoiding his former friends, and looking no man in the face, for very shame! Months of unchanging gloom rolled by, but at length there came a ray of light. 66 Robert, how are you?" said a kind voice at his side. He looked up, and grasped in silence the hand of John Miller. "It's a long time since we've seen you," resumed John, "and Rose thinks you have forgotten us." "No-not forgotten her-you," said Robert, hastily, "but-I have had trouble-I was not fit!" "Never mind, Robert! cheer up! be a man. I would have been over here before, but somehow, I felt you did not want to see us." After a long visit, John departed, urging Robert to come in and see them. He went and the kind welcome he received, soothed his troubled spirit, and for the first time since Ellen's departure he experienced pleasure. Once more, his days were brightened, by thoughts of Rose Miller, and his evenings were spent by her side. Rose reciprocated his love; his lonely heart felt mated; and the fugitive was only remembered as something once loved, but forever lost! One evening he parted from Rose, with his mind unusually calm and happy. She had fixed upon their wedding day, and, as he hastened homeward, he felt that he was desolate no longer. He entered the cottage, and sat down by the embers, in pleasing meditation, when a low sob smote his ear. Starting up, and glancing in the direction of the sound, he perceived the figure of a female, in the corner of the room. "Ellen!" he exclaimed, for without seeing her face, he felt it could be no other. Receiving no answer, he arose, and advanced toward the intruder. Grovelling on the floor, in an agony of abasement, lay the wretched girl-her face hidden in the garments of her sleeping child. He did not bid her welcome, for his heart was surcharged with boiling bitterness; neither did he utter a reproach, so touchingly did her remorse excite compassion. He sat down again in silence. Very quietly and very calm, in seeming, did Robert Dewart bend over the dying embers on his hearth; but there was a whirl and tempest |