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 DUNALLAN; 
 
 OR, 
 
 KNOW WHAT YOU JUDGE ; 
 
 A STORY. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE DECISION," 
 " FATHER CLEMENT/' &c. &c. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY W. OLIPHANT, 22, SOUTH BRIDGE ; 
 AND HAMILTON, ADAMS & CO. 33, PATERNOSTER 
 
 ROW, LONDON. 
 
 M.DCCC.XXV.
 
 TRINTED BY A. BALFOUK AN l> CO.
 
 ^23 
 
 V' I 
 
 DUNALLAN, &c. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 vJh, gentle sleep !" thou art, indeed, " fright- 
 ed away," exclaimed Catharine Dunallan, after a 
 night spent in vain efforts to attain that repose 
 which had seldom before deserted her, and to 
 banish from her thoughts the idea of the approach- 
 ing day. On that day she was, for the first time 
 since her childhood, to see her destined husband. 
 He was her relation, though a distant one, and 
 heir to her father's title, which descended only in 
 the male line. To preserve this title, and the 
 estates of both families undivided, had been 
 equally the ambition of Catharine's father and of 
 the father of her destined husband. 
 
 Lord Dunallan had obtained a promise from 
 his daughter, when very young, to agree to his 
 wishes on this subject. She had then loved him 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 DUNALLAN. 
 
 with all the ardour of nearly undivided affection, 
 and would readily have promised any thing he 
 had chosen to ask ; but as her understanding im- 
 proved, and she found that in the society, limited 
 as it was, in which her father permitted her to 
 mix, she liked and disliked with almost equal 
 warmth, she became painfully aware of the self- 
 ishness and injustice which had induced him 
 thus to sacrifice, perhaps, the whole happiness of 
 his only child to his own ambitious views ; and 
 she looked forward with dread to an- event which 
 would unite her for ever to a being she might 
 detest ; yet she loved her father so tenderly, that 
 it was painful to her to indulge a thought inju- 
 rious to him. The evil day, too, had always 
 seemed at a distance, for the young Dunallan had 
 been long abroad, and, during wars and revolu- 
 tions, had found means to travel through coun- 
 tries where few peaceful travellers had dared to 
 venture. His love for this wandering life had 
 seemed to increase ; and Catharine, who knew 
 that his father had obtained a similar promise 
 from him, to that which she had given to Lord 
 Dunallan, suspected in secret, that repugnance 
 to this unchosen marria<re was the cause of his 
 banishing himself from his countrv. At last, how- 
 ever, his father was taken dangerously ill. Dun- 
 allan was written for — instantly hurried home, 
 
 1
 
 DUNALLAN. 3 
 
 and arrived in time to soothe the last hours of 
 his parent. 
 
 Lord Dunallan wrote to his young relative on 
 the death of his father, and soon received an 
 answer to his letter, which concluded thus : 
 
 " My father's last moments were disturbed by 
 his anxiety for the completion of a scheme formed 
 by your Lordship and himself, to unite the title 
 and fortunes of our families. He informed me 
 that Miss Dunallan had consented to this union 
 of interests. Urged by him at such a moment, 
 I could have no choice. In six months, there- 
 fore, if I live, I shall have the honour of waiting 
 on your Lordship, wherever you choose, to fulfil 
 my part of the engagement." 
 
 Lord Dunallan was extremely displeased with 
 this letter. His pride and affection for his 
 daughter had almost triumphed over his love 
 of family — but old ideas soon returned — it was 
 in human nature, he wisely recollected, particu- 
 larly in youth, to despise what was easily obtain- 
 ed. He determined to seem less anxious about 
 this first wish of his heart, and then Dunallan 
 would see its advantages. He did not write to 
 him again for some time, then hoped, he said, 
 soon to see his young relation, he flattered him- 
 self he might call him his young friend : but let 
 him come as a friend and relation. His daughter
 
 4 DUNALLAN. 
 
 was his companion and solace. The thought 
 of separation was so painful, he wished he could 
 forget it for ever. 
 
 To this letter he received no answer till with- 
 in a few days of the expiration of the six months, 
 when Dunallan announced his intention of wait- 
 ing on Lord Dunallan early in the ensuing 
 week : and requested in gentler terms than form- 
 merly, though still cold, that in a few weeks 
 Miss Dunallan might be permitted to return 
 with him to Arnmore; or that he might be in- 
 formed of her wishes, which he should feel him- 
 self bound to acquiesce in if possible. " Busi- 
 " ness of importance," added he, " calls me to 
 " London, perhaps abroad, and possibly for 
 " years. Wherever duty may call me, however, 
 " I beg Miss Dunallan may be assured, that the 
 " choice of her own residence shall only require 
 " the sanction of her father to secure my assent." 
 It would be vain to attempt describing the 
 state of Catharine's feelings during the few days 
 which intervened between that on which her fa- 
 ther save her this letter to read, and the morn- 
 ing of the day on which Dunallan was expected. 
 " My dreams of happiness have passed away 
 for ever," thought she, as she slowly dressed ; 
 then, throwing open the window to breathe the 
 freshness of the morning, she, for a time, forgot
 
 DUNALLAN. 5 
 
 all her griefs while gazing at the scene before 
 her. The sun had just risen. She had seldom 
 seen its first rays before, and the woods, the dis- 
 tant mountains, and still misty lake, appeared 
 more than usually beautiful. Almost unconscious 
 of existence, she watched the brightening scene, 
 till at last recalled to herself by some one softly 
 entering her apartment. She turned round. 
 " My Elizabeth ! how kind ! but this is too early. 
 You cannot have recovered from the fatigues of 
 yesterday." 
 
 Her cousin assured her she was perfectly re- 
 covered ; and, having heard her window opened, 
 she suspected that sleep had equally forsaken 
 both. " And you know, dear Catharine," added 
 she, " you promised if I would go quietly to bed 
 last night, you would satisfy my curiosity com- 
 pletely this morning ; so now, we shall have two 
 hours to converse about every thing before a 
 creature is awake." 
 
 " Oh ! Elizabeth, every thing I have to converse 
 about is disagreeable. I cannot find an idea to 
 rest upon that is not painful. Even that scene, 
 (pointing from the window,) even that is painful, 
 for it reminds me of the cause of my being obliged 
 to become for ever the companion of a man who 
 regards our union with repugnance ; whose affec- 
 tions are probably possessed by another; and
 
 6 DUNALLAN. 
 
 whose character, even if that is not the case, is 
 just what I detest. Oh ! that I could give him 
 those woods and fields without myself. I should 
 find nature beautiful any where were I only free ; 
 and how many thousand times more valuable 
 should I esteem the heart which I could win, were 
 I a portionless girl." 
 
 Elizabeth sighed, but remained silent for a 
 moment. " Tell me, dear Catharine," said she, 
 " why is Mr. Dunallan's character so disagree- 
 able to you ? and why did you never mention this 
 in your late letters to me ?" 
 
 " Because 1 cannot very well tell why. 
 
 There is just a something in all I hear of him 
 that I dislike. You know, Elizabeth, of the let- 
 ters he wrote to my father — so stiff, so formal, 
 and cold. I thought them quite insulting." 
 
 '' It is plain," replied Elizabeth, " that he feels 
 himself forced to marry, and that he spurns this 
 force upon his inclinations ; but, dear Catharine, 
 I do not feel very anxious about this. When he 
 sees and knows you, he will love his father's me- 
 mory for the very thing he now most revolts at." 
 
 " Dear Elizabeth, has my father been tutoring 
 you ? You use his very words ; and when you 
 use them, I will say they are ver}" foolish. Can 
 you think that a man who has been travelling all 
 over Europe — in France, Italy, Poland, in shorty
 
 DUNALLAN. 7 
 
 wherever agreeable women are to be met with — 
 will find a simple country girl, who has scarcely 
 ever associated with any but neighbours as simple 
 as herself, so irresistibly charming ? Particu- 
 larly, too, when that girl is so prejudiced against 
 him, that any agreeable qualities she may have 
 will be invisible ; for, you know, my face betrays 
 all my feelings ?'* 
 
 " I know, my dear Catharine, that this very 
 expressiveness of countenance, which makes you 
 unable to conceal any thing, is the very charm 
 which I think irresistible." 
 
 *' Particularly when my face will say, ' Mr. 
 Dunallan, you are hateful to me, and have been 
 so for years.' " 
 
 " But tell me why he is so hateful to you ? and 
 why have you been so secret with me on this 
 subject ?" 
 
 " Well, I will ; but I have so much to tell you 
 I do not know where to begin. I am sure, how- 
 ever, you will feel as I do when you know all. 
 You remember when I was a child, and he a boy 
 about fourteen, that he then disliked me, and we 
 quarrelled continually." 
 
 " But, Catharine, you surely cannot allow your- 
 self to be prejudiced by what passed then : you, 
 a spoiled, self-willed, domineering little girl ; and 
 he a thoughtless, rambling boy."
 
 8 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " Never thoughtless, Elizabeth ; always solemn 
 and considerate, even then. I do not, however, 
 form my opinion of him on such trifling grounds. 
 I only remind you of this, to show you that na- 
 turally we do not suit each other ; for even child- 
 ren discover what is agreeable to them in other 
 children. Think what you choose about that, 
 however, I have enough besides to tell you. I 
 ought to begin, I believe, by informing you that 
 he professes being extremely religious, much 
 more so than other people, and is very gloomy 
 and strict. He is called the ' Saint of Arnmore,* 
 by the gentlemen of his own county. You shall 
 judge whether his actions are quite consistent 
 with these pretensions. You know, I believe, how 
 uncommonly tender his father's affection was for 
 him ; yet nothing would prevail on Dunallan to 
 remain at home. I myself heard the old gentle- 
 man say, that he had intreated him only to name 
 his wishes, and that he would consent to them. 
 He offered him his largest estate, or both estates, 
 while he himself should only retain a moderate 
 annuity ; but not all this eagerness for his society, 
 m his only surviving parent, could induce this 
 cold and self-willed being to remain, even for a 
 few months in the year, at home : and yet he 
 made a disgusting parade of visiting prisons, re- 
 lieving distress, and representing to the different
 
 DUNALLAN. 9 
 
 authorities wherever he went, the defects and 
 abuses which he detected ; while his father, in 
 bad health and retirement, was left to the care of 
 mercenaries." 
 
 " Shameful hypocrisy !" exclaimed Elizabeth. 
 " I have heard of his benevolence and charities ; 
 and his kindness to myself when a child, and ill 
 treated by your governess, had rather impressed 
 me in his favour, but this trait in his character 
 is indeed very bad." 
 
 " I have more to tell you, my dear Elizabeth. 
 After his father's death, Dunallan dismissed every 
 servant in the house, some of whom had lived 
 with old Mr. Dunallan for more than twenty 
 years, and did not give the smallest present or 
 reward, to any one of them, excepting to a very 
 young and pretty girl, who had only been a few 
 weeks in the house, to whom he gave money, and 
 with it, hypocritical being, a Bible !" 
 
 " Shocking ! But how do you know all this ?" 
 " From the young girl herself. She came all 
 the way from her father's cottage at Arnmore, to 
 ask me to take her into my service ; and very 
 wisely thought that these proofs of Dunallan's 
 partiality would recommend her to me, as, she 
 said, she knew my ' Ladyship' was going to be 
 married to Mr. Dunallan." 
 
 " And what is become of her ?"
 
 10 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " I immediately sent her back to her father. 
 I dreaded extremely that Dunallan should sup- 
 pose I was making any inquiries respecting him ; 
 for though I must feel interested in all I hear of 
 him, I have never sought for any information. 
 All I have heard has been by accident, excepting 
 his opinion of myself, which I believe, was pur- 
 posely left for me to read, by our acquaintance 
 Mrs. Lennox." 
 
 " Mrs. Lennox ! you surely know how to ap- 
 preciate any thing she says ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly I do : but this letter was ad- 
 dressed to her son, and was from Dunallan him- 
 self" 
 
 " But Mrs. Lennox would do any thing, my 
 dear Catharine, to break off your marriage, in 
 the hope that you might be won by the charms 
 of her stupid George." 
 
 " Yes ; but George is very different from his 
 mother, and has no preference for me. I know 
 he is engaged to another, and this letter was the 
 means of putting me in possession of his secret. 
 About two years since, when I was on a visit at 
 Mrs. Lennox's, she gave me a book which I had 
 wished to read. Li this book I found folded, 
 and laid in, as if for a mark, a sheet of written 
 paper. I had seen the book lying in the break- 
 fast parlour, and it never occurred to me that it
 
 DUNALLAN. 11 
 
 could be any thing but a quotation from it : and 
 as I read, I supposed it a character depicted for 
 the use, or rather warning of young ladies, to 
 whom the book was addressed. I almost remem- 
 ber the words, I have thought so often of them 
 since. It began thus, — ' She was, when a child, 
 violent and self-willed ; careless of all around her, 
 if she attained her own object. Unchecked by 
 any one, her faults, from all I hear, have strength- 
 ened with her years : and now she is the opposite 
 of what, in my eyes, is lovely, or loveable in wo- 
 man. I allow, my friend, that when joined to fe- 
 minine softness, talents in women are very de- 
 sirable, and greatly increase their power of 
 charming ; but without that softness, they are 
 very disagreeable to me : in short, I see, and 
 thank you for the kindness of your intentions, but 
 I cannot feel reconciled to my proposed union 
 with Miss Dunallan.' Here, my dear Elizabeth, 
 I stopped, as I perceived I had by mistake been 
 
 reading a letter from it was easy to guess 
 
 whom. I immediately went in search of Mrs. 
 Lennox, and said I had inadvertently read a let- 
 ter addressed to her son. Before she could pos- 
 sibly have seen what I held in my hand, she ex- 
 claimed, ' Oh ! what have I done ! You have 
 found Mr. Dunallan's letter to George. What 
 shall I do ! George will never forgive me.*
 
 12 DUN ALL AN. 
 
 George fortunately entered the room at that mo- 
 ment, and as I saw Mrs. Lennox was merely af- 
 fecting to dread her son's displeasure, I told him 
 of my mistake, showed him what I had read, and 
 assured him, as he really appeared distressed at 
 my having seen this character of myself, that I 
 thought it fortunate I had, as I might correct the 
 faults imputed to me. George took an early op- 
 portunity of imparting to me his own views and 
 wishes. He saw his mother's plans for him, and 
 dreaded that I might suspect he had entered into 
 them. I have felt as a sister for George ever 
 since that day : but I must not now spend time 
 in talking of him. Tell me, Elizabeth, do you 
 think it possible for me to look forward to a con- 
 nection for life with this man without dread ?" 
 
 Elizabeth shook her head, but remained si- 
 lent. 
 
 " I believe," continued Catharine, " you agree 
 with me in thinking what I have already told 
 you, sufficient to take away all hopes of happiness 
 from such an union: yet this is not all. I have 
 described him as a son, and as a master ; I have 
 still to make you acquainted with him as a friend 
 and a brother. You have met with Mr. Clan- 
 mar. You know that he and Dunallan were 
 educated together when boys. They afterwards 
 travelled together in Holland, Germany, and
 
 DUNALLAN. 13 
 
 Other countries. You have heard that Mr. Clan- 
 mar, to the inexpressible grief of his friends, 
 brought home a young German lady as his wife, 
 whose character suffered extremely from the sus- 
 picious circumstances attending her marriage : in 
 short, had her first child lived, his legitimacy 
 might have been disputed ; and this marriage was 
 brought about, the Clanmars say, by Dunallan, 
 whose influence over young Clanmar was then 
 unbounded. The young lady is singularly inte- 
 resting, and was a mere child at the time of her 
 marriage ; so the poor Clanmars are now, in 
 some degree, reconciled to it : but they openly 
 declare they can never regard Mr. Dunallan but 
 as the most detestable of hypocrites; in short, 
 there is something worse than I know in this 
 story, at least there are dreadful suspicions. 
 Young Clanmar, who is universally esteemed as 
 one of the most amiable tempered men in the 
 world, and indeed as very perfect in every way, 
 never mentions Dunallan' s name ; and though 
 formerly so devotedly attached to him, they now 
 have no intercourse whatever." 
 
 " Dear Catharine !" exclaimed Elizabeth, " is 
 it possible Lord Dunallan knows all this, and yet 
 can suffer you to be united to this man !" 
 
 " Yes, my own Elizabeth, my father knows it 
 all; but he hates the Clanmars, who have al-
 
 14 DUNALLAN. 
 
 ways opposed him in the county, and supposes 
 they have exaggerated these stories. I fear, 
 however, they are too true ; for I can see no rea- 
 son for people, so remarkable for pride of birth 
 as they are, chusing to exaggerate stories which 
 are disgraceful to the wife of him, who will soon 
 be the representative of their boasted family. But 
 now, my Elizabeth, I shall tell you the history of 
 his only sister, as we may be interrupted. She 
 has been dead, you know, about two years, and 
 left two children. She was older than Dunallan, 
 and before he left Oxford, had, with her father's 
 consent, married a young Englishman of family 
 and fortune. It was on Dunallan's quitting Ox- 
 ford, that he first showed his dislike to living at 
 home ; and he spent much of his time in England 
 at the house of his brother-in-law, Mr. Harcourt. 
 For some time Mr. Harcourt continued one of 
 the gayest and most fashionable men about Lon- 
 don, but he gamed so deeply, that he very soon 
 ruined his fortune. Dunallan went abroad in less 
 than two years after leaving Oxford, and remain- 
 ed absent, until called to England by Harcourt*s 
 intreaties, whose creditors had become very 
 troublesome. He so arranged matters, that Har- 
 court was permitted to accept of an appointment 
 in India ; but ever cold and unfeeling, he com- 
 pelled his unfortunate sister to remain in this
 
 DUNALLAN. 15 
 
 country, though separation from her now unfor- 
 tunate but still beloved Harcourt almost deprived 
 her of existence. Dunallan's command of for- 
 tune, however, made him all powerful. Harcourt 
 himself intreated his wife to remain. She died 
 two years afterwards of a broken heart. Her 
 children are with Dunallan, or rather with an 
 aunt of his, whom he has got to superintend his 
 domestic concerns, including me, I suppose. And 
 now, Elizabeth, you know his character, tell me, 
 my real friend, what do you think I ought to do ? 
 I have given my promise to my father ; I cannot 
 retract it : but if I could delay — if I could induce 
 Mr. Dunallan to give up his pursuit. He has 
 the worst opinion of me. What can I do ?" 
 
 Elizabeth continued silent for a few moments, 
 then asked her friend whether she thought it quite 
 impossible to change her father's wishes. 
 
 " Quite so, my Elizabeth. Ah, if you knew 
 the various means I have tried in vain. I ought 
 not to wish it," added she, rising, and bursting 
 into tears ; " I have had many happy years from 
 his kindness ; I ought not to repine at sacrificing 
 the rest of my life to him." 
 
 " Allow me to speak on the subject to Mr. 
 Dunallan when he arrives," said Elizabeth. 
 
 " But would that be fulfilling my promise to 
 my father ? No, no ; I must go on. Come here,
 
 16 DUNALLAN. 
 
 my Elizabeth : look at those woods ; look at those 
 distant mountains, and those soft hills still nearer. 
 Look at that smooth lake as it reflects its sur- 
 rounding scenery, and tell me what you feel." 
 
 Elizabeth gazed with admiration at the glorious 
 scene before her, and then replied, " I feel, Ca- 
 tharine, that I could never be very unhappy with 
 nature around me so sweet, so sublimelv beauti- 
 ful and soothing ; unless I had lost for ever some 
 beloved object, with whom I had enjoyed its 
 charms ; or was, by some insurmountable ob- 
 stacle, separated from such a friend. I have 
 feared to ask the question, Catharine ; but there 
 is no separation in your case, I fervently pray, 
 which makes an union with Dunallan so dreadful 
 to you." 
 
 " No, my dear Elizabeth ; you yourself are the 
 dearest friend I have in the world ; and you, I 
 hope, will be more with me than you have of late 
 been. My father has watched over my happiness 
 in tliis respect. In the limited circle in which 
 he has allowed me to mix, there is no one for 
 whom I feel a preference : and I agree with you 
 in thinking, that while I have a heart to feel, and 
 while nature and my friend are left to me, I can- 
 not be (juite unhappy. Whatever happens, how- 
 ever, life is not a long affair with any of us ; par-
 
 DUNALLAN. 17 
 
 ticularly the miserable," added she, her eyes again 
 filling with tears. 
 
 Elizabeth threw her arms around her friend, 
 and wept with her, but could find no subject of 
 consolation. 
 
 " Who is this aunt of Dunallan's ?" asked she 
 at length. 
 
 " She is the most unfortunate human creature 
 I ever heard of," replied Catharine, " she has 
 lost her husband, and her whole family of six 
 children. She is talked of as a good sort of wo- 
 man, but a religious enthusiast. I suppose, poor 
 soul, her misfortunes have affected her under- 
 standing, and I feel that I ought to pity her ; — 
 yet what a companion ! Dunallan is equally 
 gloomy and enthusiastic. Oh ! my father, what 
 a cruel choice ! As he says of me, he is the com- 
 plete opposite of what I could ever find it pos- 
 sible to love. But here comes Martin, and I 
 must bid adieu to this subject. My heart feels 
 relieved by conversing with you, my own Eliza- 
 beth ; but perhaps if I am not to appear very un- 
 happy to my father, it will be necessary to avoid 
 in future such softening intercourse." 
 
 Elizabeth agreed ; and embracing each other, 
 as if in giving up this soothing confidence, they 
 had given up their last consolation, Elizabeth left 
 her young friend with the wondering Martin, who
 
 m DUNALLAN. 
 
 had come earlier than usual to call her lady on 
 this eventful day. 
 
 Martin had suspected, however, that Mr. Dun- 
 allan's arrival was no cause of joy to her young 
 mistress. Catharine's early rising, and the tears 
 in her eyes, confirmed her suspicions, and made 
 her less unwilling to agree to her lady's determi- 
 nation to wear a very plain morning dress. 
 
 Catharine had no desire to please Mr. Dunal- 
 lan. If she could have concealed her face, or de- 
 prived it of the power of expression, she would 
 have been more satisfied. She had an additional 
 cause of uneasiness in the numerous spectators 
 who must witness her feelings. Lord Dunallan, 
 from a dread of his daughter's gentle submissive 
 looks, and melancholy sweetness of manners, 
 which were now the only means she used to in- 
 duce him to pity her ; and perhaps from a dread 
 of his own feelings, when about to part from a 
 child he loved next to liis family and name, had 
 invited the neighbourinor families in succession 
 for several weeks. To none of them had Catha- 
 rine imparted her dislike to her approaching mar- 
 riage ; and though the younger part wondered at 
 their beautiful companion thus agreeing, like one 
 of the royal family, to be united to a person she 
 had scarcely ever seen ; and the elder envied the 
 father who had so submissive a child ; vet both
 
 DUNALLAN. 19 
 
 ascribed this submission to pride, and the same 
 love of family so remarkable in Lord Dunallan. 
 Catharine had perceived this, and the idea of 
 their observing all her actions thus prejudiced, 
 chilled and discouraged her: yet she resolved 
 not to transfer their disapprobation from herself 
 to her father by the slighest hint of the truth.
 
 20 DUNALLAN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Lord Dunallan was alone in the breakfast- 
 room when Catharine entered. He received her 
 with tenderness ; kissed her forehead ; and press- 
 ed her hurriedly to his bosom ; glanced at her 
 pale countenance ; then saying he had forgot 
 something, (she did not hear what,) he left her: 
 but she heard him sigh deeply, which brought 
 tears into her eyes, and confirmed her determi- 
 nation to conceal from him and every one else 
 the dejection she felt. 
 
 Elizabeth soon joined her, and then Mrs. Len- 
 nox, her son George, and Rose his sister : the 
 St. Clairs of the Isle, Sir Archibald and Lady 
 Cameron of Glenmore, their son, and two daugh- 
 ters. 
 
 Every eye during breakfast was turned towards 
 Catharine. Elizabeth endeavoured to divert the 
 attention of the party by proposing plans of 
 amusement for the dav, and this in some dec^ree 
 succeeded. 
 
 " Miss Dunallan has expressed no preference,"
 
 DUNALLAN. 21 
 
 said young St. Clair at last. " Miss Dunallan, I 
 know you are fond of riding. Shall we ride ?" 
 
 " Oh no ! dear Miss Dunallan," exclaimed 
 Rose Lennox, " do consent to the sailing party." 
 
 " But if Catharine prefers riding," said Miss 
 Cameron. 
 
 " We can ride first," replied Catharine, " and 
 then sail. The day is charming; we shall have 
 time for both, if we order the horses immedi- 
 ately." 
 
 The horses were soon ready ; and the younger 
 visitors of the party set oif, all gay, and in expec- 
 tation of enjoyment. She only was sad, whom 
 each thought had most the power of being 
 happy. 
 
 Young St. Clair assisted Catharine to mount 
 her horse. He had observed the dejection, which 
 she in vain attempted to conceal, and his manner 
 showed her that he had. He put the reins into 
 her hand, but laid his arm on the neck of the 
 horse. " He is very gentle," said he, stroking 
 him. 
 
 " Yes," replied Catharine, " he obeys the 
 slightest touch of the reins." 
 
 St. Clair looked earnestly but tenderly at 
 Catharine, and said in a low voice, "you. Miss 
 Dunallan, will always find it so with all whom
 
 22 DUNALLAN. 
 
 you condescend to guide, or lead,— or love^" 
 added he, in a still lower voice. 
 
 Catharine looked languidly away, bowed cold- 
 ly, and rode on. 
 
 Catharine had willingly agreed to the wishes 
 of her young friends, because she hoped she 
 would, while riding or sailing, forget herself and 
 her griefs ; but though the day was charming, 
 and her companions increased in gaiety, she 
 could not banish thought, and became every mo- 
 ment more sad. 
 
 The lake was smooth, and the air soft and 
 balmy; the surrounding scenery even more than 
 usually beautiful ; yet Catharine thought only of 
 her approaching meeting with her hated cousin ; 
 and the time they continued to sail seemed tedi- 
 ous, though she dreaded its termination. At last 
 they landed at a short distance from the castle. 
 St. Clair offered his arm to Catharine. Elizabeth 
 walked on her other side, and on turning round 
 a part of the wood, they came in sight of the 
 house, at the entrance to which a travelling car- 
 riage had just stopt. Catharine looked eagerly 
 towards it, until she saw a gentleman, of a tall 
 and graceful figure, alight ratlier slowly from it, 
 and her father advance to meet him. She sup- 
 posed it was Dunallan, and becoming as pale as 
 death, she involuntarily shrunk back. St. Clair,
 
 DUNALLAN. 23 
 
 who felt her tremble violently, intreated her to 
 sit down on a garden seat near where they stood. 
 " We have had such a fatiguing day," said he, 
 " I am surprised at any lady having strength for 
 such exertions." Catharine trembled so exces- 
 sively, that she was obliged, for a few moments, 
 to comply with his request. Annoyed, however, 
 by the looks and attentions of St. Clair, and by 
 the inquiries of the rest of the party, who soon 
 joined them, she struggled to regain composure, 
 and leaning on Elizabeth's arm, again proceeded 
 towards the house. St. Clair intreated her to 
 lean on him, but she coldly declined his offer, and 
 looking back for Rose Lennox, who instantly 
 came to her, put her arm within hers, and in a 
 whisper begged her to remain near her. 
 
 Lord Dunallan and the stranger now approach- 
 ed. Catharine dared not raise her eyes, but be- 
 came very pale, and trembled violently. 
 
 " It is Mr. Dunallan," whispered Elizabeth, 
 " I recollect him perfectly. He looks very mild." 
 Catharine remained silent. The rest of the party 
 were walking before, and Lord Dunallan first in- 
 troduced Dunallan to them, then approaching. 
 " Catharine, my love, your cousin. Elizabeth, 
 you remember Mr. Dunallan." Catharine look- 
 ed up for a moment; Dunallan's eyes were mild- 
 ly fixed upon her ; her's fell under his, and she
 
 24 DUNALLAN. 
 
 blushed deeply. She felt ashamed of the appear- 
 ance of bashful timidity which she was conscious 
 must be the impression her silence and blushes 
 would convey to Dunallan; yet she could not 
 speak ; but recollecting all she had heard of him, 
 and her own situation, contempt, pride, and dis- 
 like of his character regained their influence ; 
 and, though silent, she walked on with her head 
 raised, and her eyes looking down with an ex- 
 pression of great haughtiness. Dunallan entered 
 into conversation with Elizabeth. The very tone 
 of his voice was disagreeable to Catharine; be- 
 cause so different from what she expected it to 
 be from the person she had so long pictured in 
 her imagination. It was singularly mild and 
 low. 
 
 " I have travelled in so many climates, and 
 been exposed to such scorching suns, that I am 
 surprised and flattered at your recollecting me, 
 Miss Murray ; yet I believe it is the expression 
 of a friend's countenance we remember. I should 
 have known you also, had I seen you smile." 
 
 " And Miss Dunallan, should you have known 
 her ?" asked Elizabeth. 
 
 " I believe not :" Then looking past Elizabeth 
 for a moment, " Yes, Miss Dunallan is less 
 changed than I thought, the first moment I had 
 the pleasure of seemg her."
 
 DUNALLAN. 25 
 
 Catharine pressed Elizabeth's arm ; for Dun- 
 allan breathed a short sigh after saying this. 
 
 EHzabeth was not surprised at his sigh, when 
 she looked at Catharine ; for she had no idea her 
 friend could look so little agreeable. 
 
 They walked on for a short way in silence. 
 Dunallan then remarked the improvements which 
 had taken place around Dunallan Castle during 
 his absence. 
 
 " Can you admire our poor Scotland, after 
 having visited Italy and Switzerland ?" asked 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " 1 have seen no scenery to me more beautiful 
 than what now surrounds me since I left Scot- 
 land," replied Dunallan ; " That at Arnmore 
 only surpasses it," added he, smiling. 
 
 " Yours is a very happy taste, Mr. Dunallan," 
 said Catharine, in rather an ironical tone of 
 voice. 
 
 " Is it so unfortunate as to differ from yours. 
 Miss Dunallan ?" 
 
 *' I certainly have never seen any place I pre- 
 ferred to Dunallan Castle," replied Catharine, 
 *' but I have never been out of Scotland, and 
 imagine I should admire the scenery of some 
 other countries still more, unless their describers 
 greatly flatter them." 
 
 " I believe," answered Dunallan, " that even 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 DUNALLAN. 
 
 after you have seen those countries, you will not 
 condemn my taste." 
 
 Catharine made no reply. 
 
 The party soon reached the house, and as it 
 was late, separated to dress for dinner. Catha- 
 rine followed Elizabeth to her room. 
 
 " Well, my dear Elizabeth, you see we have 
 differed in opinion already." 
 
 " Yes, dear Catharine ; but I must have you 
 to lay aside that expression of haughtiness ; and 
 that contemptuous tone of voice. You provoke 
 hostility." 
 
 " But I cannot help it Elizabeth, and I confess 
 you surprised me by entering so cordially into 
 conversation with a person who you know has so 
 many faults, and of whom you yourself expressed 
 so bad an opinion before you met." 
 
 " I really had forgot for a time, what you told 
 me, dear Catharine, there is something so singu- 
 larly sincere and pleasing in his looks and man- 
 
 ner." 
 
 " I have not looked at him yet," replied Ca- 
 tharine, " and cannot so soon forget his father or 
 his sister, or his friend ; but good bye, Elizabeth, 
 I wish I could forget, and feel some of the com- 
 placency for him which you do." 
 
 When Catharine entered the drawing-room 
 before dinner, she found most of the party as-
 
 DUNALLAN. 27 
 
 sembled. A glance around the room, however, 
 told her that Dunallan was not there. She felt 
 relieved, and joined Mrs, Lennox and others, 
 who were examining some prints which Lord 
 Dunallan had just received from London. Ca- 
 tharine accepted of a seat placed for her by St. 
 Clair, who protested against her standing after 
 having suffered so much from fatigue. As the 
 prints were in a large volume, it was impossible 
 to see them when sitting. St. Clair and young 
 Cameron therefore supported the book, so as to 
 place the prints in an advantageous situation. 
 Lady Cameron and Mrs. St. Clair chose to stand 
 behind Catharine. Elizabeth, Rose, and the 
 others, also stood near her, while she, thrown 
 back in her chair, scarcely conscious of what 
 passed, languidly expressed her opinion, which 
 was constantly appealed to by all the party. 
 Dunallan entered during this scene. Catharine 
 did not immediately change her attitude, but 
 turned her eyes towards the door. Dunallan 
 stood for a moment near the party, then, with a 
 look of displeasure, turned away, and joined Lord 
 Dunallan, who was standing in a window, ab- 
 sorbed in his own thoughts. Catharine felt her 
 face glow, and leant forward to conceal it. Dun- 
 allan's was the same indignant glance which she 
 used to dread when a child, because she always
 
 28 DUNALLAN, 
 
 knew she deserved it. Now she was unconscious 
 of its cause. She soon, however, recollected his 
 opinion of her ; proud, selfish, spoiled by pros- 
 perity ; and she supposed her looks conveyed to 
 him these impressions, surrounded by adulation 
 as she was at that moment. " But what right has 
 he," thought she, " to restrain or to dictate to 
 me ?" She raised her head, and again leaning 
 back in her chair, began to talk to St. Clair, who, 
 all animation and attention, watched and read her 
 expressive countenance. 
 
 " Have you seen those prints, Mr. Dunallan ?" 
 asked his Lordship, approaching the table. 
 
 Dunallan followed slowly, and stood behind 
 Rose. 
 
 " Beautiful !" exclaimed Catharine, when the 
 next print was shown. " Beautiful !" exclaimed 
 every one except Dunallan. 
 
 " Mr. Dunallan, do you not think it beautiful ?" 
 asked Rose. 
 
 " I have seen the original painting," replied 
 Dunallan, " and I think the print might have 
 been much better." 
 
 " I too have seen the original pahiting," said 
 St. Clair, "but must still agree with Miss Dunallan 
 in thinking the print exquisitely fine." 
 
 Dunallan was silent. 
 
 Another print was shown.
 
 DUNALLAN. 29 
 
 " That is surely very fine," said Rose. " To 
 me it appears beautiful." 
 
 " It is so," said Dunallan, " and does justice to 
 the painting from which it has been taken." 
 
 " Particularly that part," remarked Catharine, 
 pointing to the foreground, which was very un- 
 meaning. 
 
 " No," replied Dunallan in a calm voice, "but 
 the painter of that piece is famous for his dis- 
 tances, while his foregrounds are always defec- 
 tive. Miss Lennox's taste is perfectly correct 
 in admiring that part of the print to which she 
 pointed." 
 
 " Oh," said Rose, " Catharine and I are both 
 right." 
 
 Many more prints were turned over, but Ca- 
 tharine gave no opinion ; and St. Clair seemed so 
 much inclined to dispute whatever Dunallan said, 
 that she felt quite relieved when dinner was an- 
 nounced. 
 
 The day passed on. Catharine felt constrained 
 by being conscious that she was observed by 
 every one. She dreaded that her looks should 
 betray her feelings. She wished to appear not 
 unhappy to her father ; yet, in making this at- 
 tempt, she feared that the calm, and as she 
 thought, very proud-looking Dunallan, might 
 suppose she was pleased with her future pros-
 
 30 DUN ALL AN. 
 
 pects, whicli she felt became more alarming to 
 her every time she ventured to think. These 
 contending feelings gave to her countenance an 
 expression of abstraction and uneasiness ; while 
 her indifference, and careless answers to those 
 around her, by whom she was accustomed to be 
 treated with a deference and attention which had 
 unconsciously led her to disregard all they said, 
 gave her the appearance of a dissatisfied spoiled 
 child. Her eyes often met Dunallan's, and each 
 time the expression of his seemed to increase in 
 disapprobation, and she thought even in contempt. 
 Catharine felt this extremely. Adulation endea- 
 vours to soothe, if she was out of temper ; and 
 solicitude to discover her wishes, she was always 
 accustomed to, and scarcely perceived ; but, ex- 
 cepting from Elizabeth, or her own heart, she 
 seldom saw a look, or heard a word of reproof. 
 Every family in the neighbourhood had wished, 
 in some way, to connect her with them. Of high 
 birth, and immense fortune, very beautiful, and, 
 in general, amiable in temper, she was indisput- 
 ably the most charming and most admired young 
 lady in that part of the country. Her father's in- 
 tention of unitinor her to her cousin was well 
 known ; but, at the same time, all who were ac- 
 quainted with her character supposed, that, though 
 disengaged affections, and pride of family, might
 
 DUNALLAN. 31 
 
 lead her to aorree to her father's wishes before she 
 saw the person proposed, that if she disUked him, 
 nothing would induce her to proceed. Dunallan's 
 long absence, and Lord Dunallan's ill-concealed 
 displeasure, had increased their hopes. Mrs. Len- 
 nox felt certain that George, from the affection- 
 ate manner in which Catharine treated him, was 
 not indifferent to her. The St. Clairs thought 
 their Arthur irresistible, where there was no other 
 engagement; and so did St. Clair, who was ex- 
 tremely handsome, and almost as much admired 
 by the ladies as Catharine was by the other sex. 
 Poor young Cameron was too modest to think 
 himself worthy of such an angel ; yet every gen- 
 tle look she bestowed on him was the foundation 
 of a day dream, — so delightful, that its demoli- 
 tion by her next look of total indifference equal- 
 led it in wretchedness. He lingered still near 
 her, though he a thousand times determined to se- 
 parate himself as far as the antipodes from her 
 bewitching smiles, and killing indifference. His 
 mother knew of his passion, and endeavoured to 
 gain Catharine's confidence by every gentle and 
 winning method, and to recommend her son, by 
 her constant praises of his excellence as a son 
 and a brother. The Miss Camerons looked up 
 to Catharine as the model of all perfection, and 
 paid her the deference of the heart. Mrs. Len-
 
 32 DUNALLAN. 
 
 nox flattered her. Rose really loved, and was 
 really loved by her. Lord Dunallan was quite 
 satisfied, however, that none of these young men, 
 nor their friends, had made any impression on Ca- 
 tharine's heart; and felt rather gratified, that 
 Dunallan should see the devotion of these families, 
 the heirs of whom each possessed fortunes twice 
 as large as his. Lord Dunallan watched Catha- 
 rine's looks on this day. She saw that he did ; 
 and also that he was anxious to make all go on 
 smoothly. But it would not do. St. Clair seem- 
 ed to watch every opportunity of disputing with 
 Dunallan, or of making him appear ridiculous, 
 which, from his natural quickness, and very fre- 
 quently exercised talent for satire, he generally 
 found himself able to do whenever he attempted 
 it with others. Dunallan's calmness, his temper- 
 ate replies, and his unmoved politeness, were how- 
 ever too much for St. Clair, and he evidently lost 
 his temper. 
 
 " Let us have some music, my love," said Lord 
 Dunallan to his daughter. " Mr. Dunallan, I 
 suppose, prefers Italian to any other." " No, 
 my Lord, I prefer Scotch," said Dunallan. " Li- 
 deed ! Is it possible for one who has travelled 
 to preserve a taste so simple ?" 
 
 *' My taste is very simple, my Lord. In music
 
 DUN ALLAN. 33 
 
 I prefer that with which I can associate some 
 pleasing idea." 
 
 " And is Scotland so happy as to have inspir- 
 ed your most pleasing ideas, Mr. Dunallan ?" ask- 
 ed St. Clair with affected simplicity. 
 
 " More so than Italy, at least," replied Dunal- 
 lan. " There is a charm to be sure in the idea of 
 home to every one," said St. Clair. 
 
 Dunallan for the first time seemed moved. " I 
 did not say liome^'' replied he. " You, Mr. St. 
 Clair, know I could not mean it." 
 
 There was an expression of so much pain, as 
 well as displeasure in Dunallan's countenance 
 when he said this, that Catharine felt touched. 
 She addressed him in a gentle tone of voice, and, 
 though he did not instantly regain his composure, 
 they soon entered into conversation. They talk- 
 ed first about music, and Catharine played and 
 sung whatever he wished. He continued near 
 her during the rest of the evening, and though in 
 conversation he often differed from her in opi- 
 nion, and his looks expressed less of that plea- 
 sure and admiration with which she was gener- 
 ally listened to, than curiosity, and a wish to read 
 her mind in her countenance, yet she felt when 
 they parted for the night, that his look was not 
 one of disapprobation. 
 
 " I will not stay a moment with you, dear Ca-
 
 34 DUNALLAN. 
 
 tharine," said Elizabeth, following her into her 
 apartment, " for you are quite worn out ; only 
 tell me in one word, are you not more pleased 
 than you expected ?" 
 
 " You need not be so careful of me, dear Eliza- 
 beth, I shall not soon sleep." 
 
 *' Well ; but answer me." 
 
 " I cannot answer you Elizabeth. He is quite 
 different from what I expected." 
 
 ** Do not you find him very agreeable in man- 
 ner?" "Oh! agreeable and polished enough to 
 make me certain he will despise my defects." 
 
 " Ridiculous ! Your defects, Catharine. But 
 good night. I see you think as I do." 
 
 Catharine again declared she could not sleep. 
 But Elizabeth insisted on leaving her; and though 
 at first a thousand confused and interesting 
 thoughts kept her awake, they soon assumed the 
 form of dreams, and these were lost in more pro ► 
 found sleep.
 
 DUNALLAN. 35 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Next morning at breakfast, Lord Dunallan said, 
 that, if his friends would excuse him, he wish- 
 ed to pay a visit in the neighbourhood, which 
 would detain him all the forenoon, and he was 
 anxious before his departure to discover whether 
 there was any plan of amusement arranged for 
 the day. Every one declared they would find 
 amusement for themselves, and begged his Lord- 
 ship to take no charge of them. 
 
 " Catharine, my love," said Lord Dunallan, 
 " you will show your cousin the additions I have 
 made to the library." This particular charge of 
 her cousin committed to Catharine, brought a 
 blush over her countenance, and an expression 
 of displeasure. 
 
 Dunallan looked for her answer. She only 
 bowed her assent very coldly. 
 
 " I believe, my Lord, I ought to relieve Miss 
 Dunallan from this task, and accompany your 
 Lordship part of the way. I wish to call on my 
 friend young Clanmar."
 
 36 DUN ALL AN. 
 
 " Clanmar ! exclaimed Catharine, quite thrown 
 off her guard by surprise. 
 
 Dunallan looked for an explanation. Catha- 
 rine blushed deeply. " I thought — I suppo- 
 sed — I did not know — I had been led to believe" 
 — and she stopt. 
 
 " I believe I understand you, Miss Dunallan. 
 You had been led to believe that Mr. Clanmar 
 had reason to think himself injured by me, under 
 the mask of friendship." 
 
 Catharine blushed again still more deeply ; but 
 was silent. There was something about Dunallan 
 that quite deprived her of all presence of mind. 
 Every look, every word he uttered, every expres- 
 sion of his open and animated countenance, was 
 in direct contradiction to the character she had 
 formed of him in idea; and his plain avowal of 
 the truth on this occasion left her unable to say 
 a word. She was relieved by Mrs. Lennox, who 
 said, " One hears such stories of all one's friends, 
 that it is necessary to believe absolutely nothing." 
 
 " Would it not be better, Mrs. Lennox," ask- 
 ed Dunallan, " to discover from our friends 
 themselves whether there is any truth in such 
 stories ? if there is, our advice may be of use ; if 
 not, we may put our friend on his guard, or as- 
 sist him in disproving them." 
 
 " Your theory is beautiful, Mr. Dunallan,
 
 DUNALLAN. 37 
 
 said Mrs. Lennox, " but I fear impracticable ; 
 for the first consequence of telling a friend that 
 such a one said so and so of him would be a 
 challenge ; and I believe Mr. Dunallan is an ene- 
 my to duelling." 
 
 " Certainly," replied Dunallan, " but it is not 
 necessary to mention names on such an occa- 
 
 sion." 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Lennox, " I should doubt 
 the truth of what was told me; particularly," 
 added she laughing, "if it detracted from my 
 own merits, unless I was informed who said it, 
 and all about it, every way." 
 
 " I did not advert to being disbelieved, I con- 
 fess," replied Dunallan, smiling. " I have yet 
 to learn how to act upon such an occasion." 
 
 " But the situation of gentlemen and ladies is 
 entirely different," rejoined Mrs. Lennox, " we 
 stand in no awe of duels ; so we can politely in- 
 sinuate, that we suspect there has been some mis- 
 statement, some mistake of names or persons. 
 Oh, a hundred ways, which by degrees brings us 
 to the bottom of every thing. I am pretty cer- 
 tain I could discover even Mr. Dunallan's au- 
 thorities, if he told me some evil story he had 
 heard of me." 
 
 Dunallan declined entering the lists with so 
 dangerous a person, and retired with Lord Dun-
 
 38 DUNALLAN. 
 
 allan, who seemed rather anxious to depart. Ca- 
 tharine felt relieved by his absence ; and after 
 she • had engaged the rest of the party in such 
 amusements as suited their different tastes, she 
 retired with Elizabeth to converse with her about 
 Dunallan, and her own hopes and fears respect- 
 ing the future. 
 
 This and several other days passed away with- 
 out apparently producing much difference in the 
 feelings of any of the party. Lord Dunallan 
 continued to press his visitors to prolong their 
 stay, and Catharine joined her intreaties from a 
 dread of the party becoming so small as to force 
 a more intimate intercourse with Dunallan, whom 
 she found every hour more difficult to under- 
 stand, and whose presence was a continual re- 
 straint to her, because, though she hardly avow- 
 ed it to herself, she dreaded his opinion, and was 
 conscious that, of her, it very often was unflivour- 
 able : but though he so frequently differed from 
 her, and even in what she esteemed trifles, show- 
 ed that difference of opinion ; yet he was uni- 
 formly so gentle and polite in his mamier, that 
 she could not make herself believe he wished to 
 offend. A thousand times in the day she would 
 say to herself, " Wliy do I dread his disappro- 
 bation? Let him disapprove, let him abandon 
 this heartless, interested engagement; let him
 
 DUNALLAN. 39 
 
 despise me, and leave me in peace." Yet the 
 next time she joined in conversation, or gave her 
 opinion, her eye involuntarily glanced towards 
 Dunallan, and if he was of the same opinion, or 
 seemed pleased with what she had said, she felt 
 a lightness of heart which led her on to speak 
 until she had said something, or laughed at, or 
 joined in ridiculing some opinion or person un- 
 deserving of such treatment ; and then Dunallan's 
 grave expression, when every one else laughed, 
 made her uneasy, and unable to enjoy any thing 
 that passed. 
 
 " That stern cast-down of his eyes — that fix- 
 edly grave look, when we are only amusing our- 
 selves," said she to Elizabeth, " is such a reflec- 
 tion upon us all, even upon my father, it is quite 
 intolerable." 
 
 " Mr. St. Clair is to blame, however," replied 
 Elizabeth, " for those reproving looks. He knows 
 Mr. Dunallan's strict way of thinking about ri- 
 dicule, and religion, and some other things ; yet 
 he always contrives to introduce these subjects 
 into conversation in the very way to provoke Mr. 
 Dunallan's grave looks : and I think you must 
 allow, Catharine, that Mr. Dunallan has always 
 the just side in an argument, and leaves Mr. St. 
 Clair without a word to advance, but some silly
 
 40 DUNALLAN. 
 
 piece of sophistry, or foolish jest, which only dis- 
 covers the weakness of the side he has taken." 
 
 " But St. Clair is never serious," replied Ca- 
 tharine, " he only wishes to amuse us, while Mr. 
 Dunallan is always so grave, and so full of wis- 
 dom, and seems so anxious to lead the conver- 
 sation to wiser subjects." 
 
 " True," replied Elizabeth ; " but indeed, Ca- 
 tharine, I greatly prefer his conversation to Mr. 
 St. Clair's. I find it much more interesting. You 
 know I have always found those men most agree- 
 able, who treated us women most like equals and 
 rational creatures. You, my dear Catharine, have 
 been more accustomed to flattery, and admiring 
 deference of opinion from the other sex than I 
 have, and of course will feel the total want of this 
 in Dunallan more than I do." 
 
 " No, Elizabeth, it is not that foolish flattery I 
 regret ; but I am not accustomed to contemptu- 
 ous, and disapproving looks ; and I confess I do 
 feel them," add she, bursting into tears. 
 
 " My dearest Catharine, you entirely mistake 
 his looks. You cfonerallv relv on what I sav ; 
 and I declare that were I asked what 1 tliought 
 his feelings for you were, I would say, that he 
 already felt deeply interested, and even tenderly 
 for you." 
 
 " Dear Elizabeth," exclamied Catharine, ris-
 
 DUNALLAN. 41 
 
 \. 
 
 ing, and speaking with much emotion, " what an 
 idea. For once you think as you wish. Feel 
 tenderly ! Is watching every word I say, in ge- 
 neral to differ from me, tenderness ? Was that 
 remark he made to me this morning, ' that young 
 women of fortune seemed to forget they were re- 
 sponsible creatures' tenderness ? He seems to 
 consider me a spoiled child, an useless being, 
 guided by no principle, but at the mercy of 
 my own caprice. Oh, Elizabeth ! I see he de- 
 spises me ; and he has taught me to despise my- 
 self; for I feel, on reflection, that his opinion of 
 me is not unjust." 
 
 " I still think you quite mistaken, however," 
 replied Elizabeth, " in the opinion you suppose 
 he has formed of you. You remember the de- 
 scription he gave the other evening of a Lady, a 
 friend of his, Mrs. Henry Williams ?" 
 
 " Perfectly, and I remember his looks when 
 he turned to me while describing her ; they said, 
 ' Attend, silly girl ; compare your aimless, trif- 
 ling, useless life, with that of this truly virtuous, 
 and religious, and marvellously active wife, and 
 daughter, and mother, and friend, and sister, and 
 every thing !' I shall be introduced to this pa- 
 ragon, Elizabeth; she lives near Arnmore, and 
 I suppose Dunallan means me to regard her as 
 my model ; with her, schools, and cares for the
 
 42 DUNALLAN. 
 
 poor, " which," as he said, " did not consist in 
 merely giving them money without inquiring into 
 their temporal, and still more in^^portant concerns. 
 Oh, I remember his very words !" 
 
 " But, dear Catharine, what can you condemn 
 in his words ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing ! I wish I could." 
 
 " But, Catharine, I was going to tell you what 
 he said of you." 
 
 " Of me !" 
 
 " Yes. After describing Mrs. Henry Wil- 
 liams, he turned to me, and said in reply to my 
 admiring praises of her character, ' Your cousin, 
 I think, greatly resembles Mrs. Williams in her 
 natural disposition, if I have rightly judged from 
 the little I have seen of her ; and I think would 
 have probably been a very similar character, had 
 she been educated in the school of adversitv, like 
 poor Mrs. Williams.' " 
 
 " Is it possible he said this of me ?" asked Ca- 
 tharine, eagerly. 
 
 " Precisely as I have repeated it," replied Eli- 
 zabeth. 
 
 Catharine remained absorbed in thought for a 
 few moments ; then awaking from her reverie, she 
 exclaimed, " But, Elizabeth, what is become of 
 all the unexplained evil stories we have heard of
 
 DUNALLAN. ' 4S 
 
 this same unaccountable Dunallan? his father, 
 his sister." 
 
 " Oh, they cannot be true," replied Elizabeth ; 
 " you know the history about Mr. Clanmar must 
 be without foundation, since he called here yes- 
 terday, and seemed to regard Mr. Dunallan with 
 the greatest affection and respect." 
 
 " He is a mystery altogether," said Catharine, 
 gaily. " And so I am like Mrs. Williams, only I 
 require adversity," added she, playfully ; " per- 
 haps Mr. Dunallan may supply this deficiency 
 to me." 
 
 A few evenings after this conversation. Lord 
 Dunallan sent to request his daughter's company 
 in the library. Catharine dreaded this tete a tete^ 
 but imnfediately attended her Father. She found 
 him surrounded by papers. " My dear child," 
 said he, " come and sit down by me. I wish to 
 consult you on a subject very interesting to both 
 of us. You know the fortune I shall leave you 
 and your cousin will be immense. I am sure 
 you will join me in thinking that my sister, 
 your Elizabeth's mother, ought not to suffer in- 
 conveniencies from the narrowness * of her for- 
 tune while we are so affluent. Her children are 
 now advancing in life ; and I have been thinking, 
 that to leave each of them an independence would 
 be most agreeable to my sister, who is rather
 
 44 DUNALLAN. 
 
 proud on these subjects, but who would not act 
 contrary to the interests of her children. After 
 your marriage, my love, I shall consider my for- 
 tune as a trust for you, therefore"—^ 
 
 " My dearest father," interrupted Catharine, 
 " do not speak thus. Follow your ovm generous 
 wishes. I have never thought of this. My aunt 
 has always appeared comfortable and happy. I 
 knew she was beloved by you. If there is any 
 way of increasing her happiness, I intreat you do 
 not hesitate, or think of the future." 
 
 " How you run on my Catharine. I never can 
 get you to listen to these subjects ; but now, my 
 love, it is your duty to attend to them. The wife 
 or the mother who disregards these matters, may 
 bring ruin and disgrace on those most dear to 
 her. But to return to my sister, here is the let- 
 ter I have written to her, and the addition I wish 
 to make to the fortunes of her children." 
 
 Catharine read the letter, then said, " I sup- 
 pose, my dear Father, you mean the sum you 
 have mentioned for each of my cousins." 
 
 " You are very magnificent in your ideas, my 
 love, I mean what I have mentioned as a pro- 
 vision for the whole. Do you approve, my Ca- 
 tharine ?" 
 
 " Oh, most heartih' ; but do, my dearest Fa- 
 ther, make it to each."
 
 DUNALLAN. 45 
 
 " Pho'j child, you are foolish. But I must 
 see Mr. Dunallan ; after what has passed between 
 his father and me, I think myself accountable to 
 him for the way in which I spend my fortune." 
 
 " I may go, I suppose," said Catharine, ris- 
 ing. 
 
 " No, my love, stay." 
 
 She reluctantly resumed her seat, and Dun- 
 allan soon appeared. He was informed of the 
 business by Lord Dunallan. 
 
 " I request — I intreat, my Lord, you will ne- 
 ver think of consulting me on such matters, nor 
 suppose for a moment that I am capable of de- 
 siring to control your Lordship in the manner 
 in which you choose to spend any part, or the 
 whole of your fortune." He was retiring. Lord 
 Dunallan intreated him to stay. 
 
 " You will greatly oblige me, Mr. Dunallan, 
 if you will act as the heir of my fortune — give 
 me your opinion — let me feel that you are satis- 
 fied. You are acquainted with what passed be- 
 tween your Father and myself. In my situation 
 you would feel as I do, that I cannot alienate 
 any part of my fortune from the husband of my 
 child without his concurrence. I beg, therefore, 
 that on all occasions you will allow me to con- 
 sult you respecting my affairs." 
 
 He again offered the letter to Dunallan. 
 
 1
 
 46 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " Impossible, my Lord," said he, drawing back 
 rather coldly, " I can interfere no farther in your 
 Lordship's concerns, than to say, that, if any 
 transaction passed between you and my father, 
 which your Lordship conceives gives me any 
 title to interfere in the disposal of your for- 
 tune, you will allow me to w^ithdraw that title 
 by any act which can do so." 
 
 " I know of no act, Mr. Dunallan," replied his 
 Lordship, proudly, " which can cancel the pro- 
 mises of a man of honour to a friend after the 
 death of that friend. But it is possible to de- 
 prive myself of the pleasure I intended." 
 
 " My Lord," said Dunallan, " pardon me. I 
 knew not the nature of the engagement to w^hich 
 you alluded. Command me — I am willing to do 
 precisely as you wish." 
 
 Lord Dunallan seemed unwilling to proceed 
 in the business. Dunallan laid his hand on the 
 letter, and looked for his Lordship's permission 
 to read it. He bowed coldly. Dunallan perus- 
 ed it carefully, then asked if Lord Dunallan would 
 permit him to add a few words. " Certainly," 
 replied his Lordship, smiling in reply to Dun- 
 allan's conciliating looks and tone of voice. Dun- 
 allan wrote a few words, and then returned the 
 letter to his Lordship, who read the words he 
 had written, and then presented it to Catliarine,
 
 DUNALLAN. 47 
 
 and said, smiling, " I think, my love, Mr. Dun- 
 allan and you have had some secret communica- 
 tion about this aifair." 
 
 Catharine read the words Dunallan had writ- 
 ten — " I therefore, my dear sister, request your 
 acceptance of the provision I have mentioned." 
 Dunallan had added, " For each of your dear 
 children." " I hope, my dear father, you will be 
 persuaded by Mr. Dunallan," said Catharine, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " But my dear, I must sell an estate to raise 
 this sum." 
 
 " No, my Lord," said Dunallan, " that is un- 
 necessary, my father left — but," looking at Ca- 
 tharine, " your Lordship and I can settle all that 
 at another time." 
 
 Lord Dunallan then proposed walking, as the 
 evening was charming, and they found that the 
 rest of the party had gone out. They walked 
 together for some time, but at last Lord Dunal- 
 lan, recollecting he had something to say to his 
 steward, who had just passed them, he left Catha- 
 rine to entertain her cousin. She had hitherto 
 carefully avoided being left alone with Dunallan, 
 and the more so because she had observed that 
 he seemed rather anxious to detain her, when, 
 notwithstanding all her care, she did happen to 
 be found alone by him. She now looked in vairi
 
 48 DUNALLAN. 
 
 for the rest of the party ; they were not in sight, 
 and as she had just been admiring the beauty of 
 the evening, and had proposed to her father that 
 they should walk to a particular hill a good way 
 off, she could find no pretext for leaving Dunal- 
 lan. He offered his arm, and they walked on for 
 a few moments in silence. Catharine dreaded 
 his saying any thing which might advert to their 
 peculiar situation, and searched in her own mind 
 for some subject of conversation as far from it as 
 possible, but could find none. She was relieved 
 from her search by Dunallan, whose first ques- 
 tion seemed to say he had been equally anxious 
 to avoid the subject. 
 
 " Do you generally spend the winter at Dun- 
 allan Castle, Miss Dunallan ?" 
 
 " Yes. We have spent two winters at Edin- 
 burgh, but all the other winters of my life have 
 been spent at Dunallan Castle." 
 
 " Have you found your winters at Edinburgh 
 pass more happily than those at Dunallan 
 Castle ?" 
 
 " Not nearly so happily." 
 
 « Indeed !" 
 
 " No, because on the whole we lived more re- 
 tiredly at Edinburgh than we do here." 
 
 " And why so, may I be permitted to ask ?" 
 
 Catharine hesitated. She could not tell Dun-
 
 DUNALLAN. 49 
 
 allan what she believed was the true cause — her 
 father's solicitude to prevent the possibility of 
 her forming any engagement which might pre- 
 vent their future union. " My father's chief 
 pleasures," said she at last, " consist in reading, 
 and attending to county affairs, and the associ- 
 ates he prefers are either learned men, or those 
 friends who reside in our neighbourhood. In 
 Edinburgh, our society consisted of a few old 
 
 gentlemen. Sir Hugh Cawdor, Professor B , 
 
 Dr. L , and a few others, and one or two of 
 
 our country neighbours, who went to town be- 
 cause we did." 
 
 " And you tired extremely." 
 
 " I did, because I knew gayer scenes, and so- 
 ciety more suited to my taste, might easily have 
 been enjoyed by me, had my father permitted it. 
 Even Elizabeth, who is so much more grave and 
 sensible than I am, used to tire of our even- 
 ings at Edinburgh, and laugh at my miserable 
 walks with my duenna, in the meadow ; for we 
 lived in that dull part of the town called George's 
 Square." 
 
 Dunallan smiled, and asked " whether she had 
 never joined in any public amusement ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, my father went with me as often as 
 I chose to the Theatre ; but I tired of the bad 
 actors who are generally to be seen there. Oh 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 m DUXALLAX. 
 
 I prefer Dnwrifain Castle a thousand times to that 
 stnjHd town, which I never could suffer till to- 
 wards the spring, when I was permitted to walk, 
 or drive about to see the beautiful views in its 
 oeighboariiood.'' 
 
 " You have, indeed, many sources of amuse- 
 ment and pleasure at this beautiful residence. 
 Miss Dunallan, and I must compliment you on 
 Ac taste tou have displayed in laying out those 
 j^fAaresque grounds in the glen. I knew not 
 until to-day, that the plan was entirely yours. 
 T^Tien I was here formerlv, nothing was to be 
 se^i there but woods — ^thick impenetrable woods." 
 
 " Ah,** said Catharine, sighing, " I was greatly 
 occupied whilst my plan was carrying into exe- 
 cution. I believe I was never more happy; but 
 when it was finished, I 'almost wished I could 
 hare restored the thick woods again. I wearied 
 of its new fonn. I then amused myself by having 
 ihat little Gothic building erected, which I en- 
 deavoured, by reading many books on architec- 
 ture, and by procuring numberless plans, to make 
 very perfect, I read every day for a month or 
 two in that peaceful retreat, and I got suitable 
 books, and Gothic furniture: but I soon tired 
 more there than any where else : and though I 
 had declared mv determination that tkere I should 
 enjoy oonqfdete soUtude, and must not on any ac-
 
 DUNALLAN. 51 
 
 count be disturbed, I soon longed for some in- 
 truder. I had my harp carried there also, but 
 tired of the novelty of playing and singing alone. 
 Now I scarcely ever go there but when I am in 
 such low spirits as to hate company ; and I pre- 
 fer any other walk to the glen." 
 
 *' Are you so very inconstant. Miss Dunallan ?" 
 asked her cousin, smiling. 
 
 Catharine blushed. She had talked on in her 
 usual way, exactly saying what came into her 
 head, and what was indeed the real truth; but 
 this question, and the smile which accompanied 
 it, recalled to her ideas how strongly this account 
 of herself must confirm Dunallan in the opinion he 
 had formed of her. She hesitated, then deter- 
 mining to affect nothing, she replied, " I suppose 
 I am very whimsical and inconstant, for none of 
 the pursuits I have ever followed have afforded 
 me half the pleasure 1 expected." 
 
 " Because," replied Dunallan, with much gen- 
 tleness, " you have been given a mind, my dear 
 Miss Dunallan, which cannot be satisfied with 
 the pursuits you have hitherto followed. What 
 you have with so much ardour, made your first 
 and favourite objects of pursuit, (will you pardon 
 me for saying it?) ought only to have been resort- 
 ed to as recreations for a mind such as yours. 
 You will not be surprised when I own to you, 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY
 
 52 DUNALLAN. 
 
 that your character has been my particular study 
 ever since I have been here. I have endeavour- 
 ed to make myself acquainted with the nature of 
 your pursuits. I have learnt with what unwearied 
 eagerness you followed them ; and have now 
 heard you confess your disappointment. I have 
 seen your glen, your Gothic building, your gar- 
 den, your green-house, your music room, your 
 library, your paintings." 
 
 " Oh ! stop this enumeration," exclaimed Ca- 
 tharine, " I am sufficiently ashamed of my change- 
 able unsatisfied feelings. But there are some 
 things, Mr. Dunallan, in which I have never 
 changed. My father and Elizabeth are always 
 the same to me. It is because I have had but 
 few living objects of interest, that I have endea- 
 voured to fix my affections on those which are 
 incapable of satisfying the heart." 
 
 " When Elizabeth is with you, do you never 
 feel any of this weariness and dissatisfaction?" 
 asked Dunallan mildlv. 
 
 " Not so much; and if I had several Elizabeths, 
 I dare say I should' never feel it." 
 
 " My dear Miss Dunallan," replied her cousin, 
 " do not suppose that I presume to censure you, 
 or any pursuit that has afforded you pleasure. I 
 rather wished to express the admiration I felt, 
 for the correct and beautiful taste which has led
 
 DUNALLAN. 53 
 
 you, in comparative retirement, to arrive at a 
 perfection in those pursuits which I have looked 
 for in vain amongst those who have had oppor- 
 tunities of forming their ideas from the first mo- 
 dels in the world." 
 
 " Flattery ! even from you, Mr. Dunallan ! 
 this I did not expect." 
 
 " I do not flatter, Miss Dunallan. I speak 
 my real sentiments. All I have seen done by 
 your direction, to improve the scenery around 
 you, has, in my opinion, been charmingly done. 
 Your Gothic reading retirement is in the most 
 correct taste ; your garden — all, indeed, appears 
 to me in an uncommon degree perfect. Your 
 paintings are so, from the just taste which has 
 prevented your attempting what is beyond the 
 power of almost any but artists to attain. Your 
 music, from the same reason, is singularly pleas- 
 ing. In short, you must not be displeased with 
 me when I say, that I greatly admire both your 
 natural powers, and the energy with which they 
 have been cultivated. And allow me to add, 
 that the more interest I feel in the possessor of 
 these powers, the more anxious shall I be to see 
 them directed to objects which will afford her a 
 more pleasing reward than the weariness of which 
 she complains, and which, though felt I believe
 
 54 DUNALLAN. 
 
 by all who are engaged in trifling pursuits, be- 
 comes the supreme misery of a superior mind.'* 
 
 There was something so earnest, yet kind and 
 gentle, in Dunallan's voice and manner, that Ca- 
 tharine felt softened. " I long most earnestly," 
 replied she, " to have such pursuits in my 
 power." 
 
 " And may I ask," returned Dunallan, " w^ere 
 you completely your own mistress, what would 
 be the first object of your wishes ?" 
 
 " Oh !" said Catharine, " friends — friends 
 whom I could love. I would search for them 
 wherever I went ; and I should go every where, 
 and see every thing that is worth seeing." 
 
 *' And where would you first go, in this 
 search ?" 
 
 " To London perhaps ?" 
 
 " To London in search of friends !" interrupt- 
 ed Dunallan smiling. 
 
 " I should expect to meet the most polished 
 and agreeable society of my country there," re- 
 plied Catharine, " and amongst them I surely 
 might find some to love, and many to admire ; a 
 sentiment I have scarcely ever experienced, and 
 thought so very delightful when I did." 
 
 " Delightful indeed !" replied Dunallan, " but 
 after you had found friends, and objects of admi- 
 ration ?" —
 
 DUNALLAN, 55 
 
 <' I should in their society enjoy whatever of- 
 fered : books — the theatre. We might travel in 
 other countries, in search of those beauties and 
 perfections not to be found in our own. Oh ! I 
 should never be unhappy any where, surrounded 
 by those I loved." 
 
 They had now reached the summit of the hill 
 to which Catharine proposed walking. After 
 having slowly ascended by a path rendered al- 
 most dark by the deep woods which surrounded 
 and overshadowed them, they at once, on turning 
 a rocky point, came upon an opening in the road 
 which discovered a scene of extreme grandeur 
 and beauty. The hill on which they stood, steep, 
 rocky, and covered with hanging woods, was 
 washed at its base by the gently swelling waves 
 of a far-extended inland bay, whilst all around 
 rose woody hills and bold towering mountains, 
 sometimes nearly meeting, and then receding, as 
 if to disclose the beauteous lakes that lay within 
 their sheltering grandeur, and now reflected in 
 softened majesty the wild and varied beauties of 
 their guardian mountains. Far beyond was seen 
 a boundless ocean, peaceful and sublime, and 
 here and there the faint but picturesque outline 
 of some distant islands, half mingling with the 
 clouds that glowed around the setting sun. All 
 nature seemed hushed in silent pleasure. No
 
 56 DUNALLAN. 
 
 sound was heard but the distant plash of oars 
 from the little fishing boats that slowly glided 
 homewards. The song of the blackbird, soft and 
 wild, added sweetness and sadness to the feelings 
 inspired by the universal calm, and sublime gran- 
 deur of the scene. 
 
 " What a scene !" exclaimed Dunallan. They 
 both for some moments gazed in silent admira- 
 tion. 
 
 " I do not remember this magnificent view," 
 resumed he. " How could I, even as a boy, be 
 so dead to all that is great and beautiful in na- 
 ture ?" 
 
 " It was not then knownii to be so fine," said 
 Catharine. " It is so only from this side of the 
 hill ; and no one had thought of clearing away 
 the wood, which was so close and thick as wholly 
 to interrupt the view." 
 
 " This, then, is another instance of your taste, 
 Miss Dunallan," said her cousin. 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 '' And do you weary of this also ?" asked he. 
 
 " Oh never. But this glorious scene inspires 
 feelings almost as painful- as weariness. One's 
 mind feels so bounded, so confined, so dark — 
 amidst such splendid displays of nature." 
 
 " Of nature !" repeated Dunallan. He paused 
 and looked at Catharine. " What or who is na-
 
 DUNALLAN. 57 
 
 ture ?" continued he. " Shall we, when we gaze 
 on such a scene as this, say ' The heavens declare 
 the glories oi nature — the earth is full oiher glory?' 
 Why, my dear Miss Dunallan, should we substi- 
 tute a mere idea in the room of the glorious 
 Being who has created that profusion of magnifi- 
 cence and beauty, and who formed in the human 
 heart a capacity to feel so deeply what is magni- 
 ficent and beautiful ? Why, by ascribing this 
 glory to a vague idea, separate ourselves still 
 farther from its real and ever-present Author, 
 who so powerfully solicits and demands our af- 
 fections, and claims even the first place in our 
 hearts ? It is because love is the natural conse- 
 quence of admiration, that we feel a sort of 
 oppression on our feelings when we most in- 
 tensely admire the glories around us, without 
 raising our hearts to their Author. We cannot 
 love inanimate nature in the degree we admire it. 
 We cannot love an undefined idea; and we do 
 not make ourselves acquainted with the character 
 of the real Author, nor regard the light he pours 
 around us in every part of his creation." 
 
 Catharine felt awed by Dunallan's manner; 
 but after a pause replied, " Was nature always 
 as we now see it, we should certainly wish to dis- 
 card whatever might prevent us from attempting 
 to ascend in thought to its divine Author : but I
 
 .58 DUNALLAN. 
 
 have seen that bay dark and gloomy, and danger- 
 ous — the trees on its banks rent by the storm — 
 the boats tossing on the waves. — I have been de- 
 tained hours in this shelter, watching their peril- 
 ous landing, whilst wives, and children, and 
 mothers, were suffering anguish from their ter- 
 rors : Then — " 
 
 " Then," mildly interrupted Dunallan, " the 
 lesson was only different, and taught what is 
 equally necessary to be known, — that the Being 
 who generally speaks to us in the language of 
 love and mercy can also frown." The sound of 
 approaching voices now interrupted this conver- 
 sation. 
 
 " I hear your friends advancing," said Dun- 
 allan, apparently rather disappointed by the in- 
 terruption ; " before we part may I ask, whether 
 the life you described to me at the beginning of our 
 walk was the life you would deem most happy ?" 
 
 " If I recollect aright what I said, it was," re- 
 plied Catharine. 
 
 " It was merely a life of pleasure and amuse- 
 ment," said Dunallan. 
 
 " And would not that be happiness ?" 
 
 ** No : and if you expect it to be so, be assur- 
 ed, dear Miss Dunallan, you will be disappoint- 
 ed." 
 
 " What life then would be happy ?"
 
 DUNALLAN. 59 
 
 " A life of usefulness alone." 
 
 The party now approached, and seemed sur- 
 prised at finding Catharine and Dunallan. 
 
 *' I thought you were with Lord Dunallan, my 
 dear Catharine," said Rose, " Mr. St. Clair as- 
 sured me that you were." 
 
 " And so I was, for a short time, dear Rose," 
 replied Catharine. 
 
 St. Clair seemed displeased and uncomfort- 
 able ; young Cameron miserable. Catharine still 
 leant on Dunallan's arm ; and taking a last look 
 of the bay, and its surrounding mountains, now 
 darkening in the twilight, they turned to descend 
 the hill. The path admitted of two only. Ca- 
 tharine and Dunallan walked on in silence. Her 
 thoughts were fixed on his last words, " a life of 
 usefulness ;" she wished to know his ideas of such 
 a life. The conversation this evening had in- 
 creased her esteem for Dunallan, yet she felt 
 even less able than before to understand him. 
 She wished, however, that she could, and deter- 
 mined that, in future, she would not avoid his 
 society. As they were entering the house, she 
 said to him, smiling, 
 
 '' Mr. Dunallan, you must tell me what you 
 think is a useful life at some other time." 
 
 '' I shall be most happy to tell you," replied 
 he, " and if you would agree with me — if in this
 
 60 DUNALLAN. 
 
 we could be of the same opinion ;" he hesitated— 
 then stopped, and left the sentence unfinished. 
 
 St. Clair was near, and heard what passed. 
 They then joined the party in the drawing-room. 
 St. Clair almost immediately addressed Dunallan 
 in his usual slighting tone of voice and manner. 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Dunallan, are you one of those 
 people who approve of young ladies teaching 
 poor children to read the Bible, &c. &c. instead 
 of sending them, in the good old way, to be 
 taught by some old woman in the village ?" 
 
 " I think," replied Dunallan, with unmoved 
 calmness, " that where there is an old woman 
 capable of teaching, it would be a pity to super- 
 sede her in her profession ; but I think young 
 ladies most properly and most amiably employed 
 in superintending and encouraging the old wo- 
 man in her labours." 
 
 " Well," resumed St. Clair, " I confess I have 
 not been able to perceive the benefit poor chil- 
 dren can receive from the instructions of young 
 ladies that they might not equally receive from 
 that of old women ; and I mean, when I get a 
 seat in Parliament, to offer my services to the old 
 ladies, to bring in a bill to guard the profession 
 against those pretty intruders ; and that for their 
 sakes as much as that of the old ladies ; for I 
 know nothing so likely to injure the charms of
 
 DUNALLAN. 61 
 
 the lovelier sex as the air and manner of a school- 
 mistress." 
 
 All the young ladies laughed excepting Rose. 
 
 " I beg, Mr. St. Clair," said Mrs. Lennox, 
 " that you will have the goodness to let that sub- 
 ject remain at rest. Teaching the poor is the 
 fashion of the day, and my poor Rose has been 
 infected by it ; but she has an inaptitude about 
 her at doing any thing, even a fashionable thing 
 fashionably. Instead of subscribing, as I do, to 
 Lady Mary D.'s school in our neighbourhood, 
 and always going to its examinations, and pre- 
 senting the children with new dresses, — for they 
 have such a neat uniform, — instead of this, my 
 poor Rose must have a dozen little miserable 
 things, who are too sickly to walk so far as the 
 school, in her room, and teach them to read the 
 Bible, during those very hours I wished her to 
 devote to her harp." 
 
 Rose blushed, and tears started into her eyes. 
 " You know, Mamma, I was to rise two hours 
 earlier for my harp." 
 
 " Oh, yes, my dear, and look like a ghost from 
 want of sleep ! Ridiculous !" 
 
 " Surely," said George Lennox, " ten hours 
 of sleep is too much, either for health, or in a 
 moral point of view." 
 
 " Dear George," said Mrs. Lennox, " do not
 
 62 DUNALLAN. 
 
 encourage your sister. She will think I was 
 quite cruel in preventing her spending the pre- 
 cious hours necessary to acquire those accom- 
 plishments, which are quite indispensable, in 
 teaching a few miserable cottagers, what, if they 
 are to live, they will learn equally well in the 
 next village." 
 
 " Which is four miles off," said George, " and 
 the school not large enough to admit nearly all 
 the children who have strength to walk ; conse- 
 quently, half the girls around us have scarcely 
 any means of instruction.'' 
 
 " I did not know you were so intimately ac- 
 quainted with their affairs, George," said his mo- 
 ther, trying to smile. 
 
 *' I am perfectly acquainted with their situ- 
 ation," replied George, " and long most earnest- 
 ly to see it improved." 
 
 " Well, I declare," exclaimed Sir Archibald 
 Cameron, addressing Lord Dunallan, " I think 
 there is something very amiable in the enthusiasm 
 for improving the state of the poor, which is so 
 general at present amongst well-disposed young 
 people." 
 
 " Very amiable indeed," replied his Lordship, 
 with an air of absence. 
 
 " Certainly," said Mrs. St. Clair, " improve the 
 lower orders as much as possible by proper 
 
 1
 
 DUNALLAN. 63 
 
 means ; but not by young ladies forgetting their 
 places in society, and doing that themselves 
 which ought to be left to more proper persons, 
 while they neglect . . ." 
 
 " Their harps," interrupted Dunallan play- 
 fuUy. 
 
 '' Oh, I forgot, Mr. Dunallan, that you were 
 an advocate for ladies' schools." 
 
 Dunallan attempted to change the subject, 
 which seemed disagreeable or uninteresting to 
 most of the party ; but St. Clair appeared deter- 
 mined to pursue it, and appealed to Catharine for 
 her opinion. 
 
 " I have not formed any," replied she languid- 
 ly ; her thoughts had indeed wandered from a 
 subject in which she felt little interest. 
 
 St. Clair looked disappointed at the careless 
 indilBPerence of her manner ; she perceived this, 
 and said smiling, " I can tell you, however, what 
 my opinion is, without taking time to consider 
 what it ought to be. I believe it is proper to 
 have the poor children taught all that may after- 
 wards be useful to them ; but I think it would be 
 very tiresome to do it myself; and I suspect that 
 the young ladies who do it have, in general, 
 (perhaps almost unconsciously,) some secret view 
 to praise, or, in short, something more agreeable
 
 64^ DUNALLAN. 
 
 than the mere pleasure of imparting knowledge 
 to the ignorant." 
 
 St. Clair laughed, " Ah ! Miss Dunallan," ex- 
 claimed he, " your penetration leads you to the 
 truth direct, without a tedious attempt to form a 
 wise opinion." 
 
 " The discovery of such truths, however," 
 said Dunallan, in a tone of voice almost severe, 
 " does more honour to the penetration of the 
 head than to the feelings of the heart." 
 
 Catharine reddened, and bowing to Dunallan 
 said, " It is perhaps fortunate for me, Mr. Dun- 
 allan, that of late I have found it necessary to 
 avoid consulting the heart; I might otherwise 
 have felt your compliment too deeply." She then 
 rose, and went towards her harp, to conceal the 
 tears she could not restrain. 
 
 St. Clair glanced indignantly at Dunallan, and 
 then followed her; an expression of pleasure, 
 however, was also on his countenance. Dunallan 
 became very thoughtful, and the ladies looked at 
 each other. 
 
 " You see the consequences of your foolish 
 schools. Rose," said Mrs. Lennox in a whisper 
 to her daughter ; " you have made your young 
 friend quite unhappy." 
 
 Rose seemed to believe herself the cause of 
 
 {
 
 DUNALLAN. 65 
 
 what had passed ; and going towards Dunallan 
 said, in a low voice, " I believe Catharine is 
 quite right; I did hope I should be doing some- 
 thing worthy of praise in teaching those poor 
 children." 
 
 Dunallan smiled, " But that was not your mo- 
 tive for doing it, Miss Lennox." 
 
 " Oh, perhaps it might; at any rate, it does 
 not signify how it was. Don't you like the harp ? 
 Let us go near." 
 
 Dunallan followed the sweet girl. St. Clair 
 was attempting to recommend himself to Catha- 
 rine by the most flattering description of a scene 
 he had witnessed that day, — a family who, from 
 great wretchedness, had been placed in a situ- 
 ation of comfort by Catharine's bounty. Dun- 
 allan listened eagerly. St. Clair used all his elo- 
 quence to reconcile her to herself. Rose joined 
 in admiration of her friend's goodness; young 
 Cameron also was more eloquent than usual in 
 the eulogium he bestowed on this idol of his 
 heart. All seemed anxious to make up to her 
 for the cruel speech of Dunallan ; but in vain; a 
 cloud was fixed on Catharine's brow which no- 
 thing could remove during the whole of the even- 
 ing. She tired of the harp, and, intreating Rose 
 to take her place, and putting her arm within 
 Elizabeth's, she passed Dunallan with an air of
 
 66 DUNALLAN. 
 
 extreme coldness, and led her friend to another 
 part of the room, showing by her looks that she 
 did not wish to be followed. Elizabeth, when 
 she saw that the gentlemen were attempting to 
 converse with the party of young ladies they had 
 left, said in a low voice, " I feel that you have 
 some cause to be displeased, dear Catharine, but 
 do not, my friend, show your feelings so much ; 
 try at least to conceal them for a short time." 
 
 " I cannot," replied Catharine, " I never felt 
 more miserable." 
 
 " You do not feel more so than he does," said 
 Elizabeth, glancing towards Dunallan, who stood 
 in deep thought near Rose's harp. 
 
 Catharine followed Elizabeth's look, and then 
 sighed deeply. " His misery is no comfort to 
 me. He must be miserable, thinking of me as 
 he does. Oh ! what wretchedness is before us 
 both !" 
 
 During the remainder of the evening, Catha- 
 rine purposely avoided meeting Dunallan's looks. 
 When parting for the night, he held out his hand 
 as usual ; she gave him hers ; he held it for a 
 moment, and she involuntarily looked up. Dun- 
 allan's manner seemed to ask forgiveness, but 
 Catharine turned coldly away. He pressed her 
 hand gently in his, saying, " Good night," in a 
 voice more than usually soft. Catharine felt she
 
 DUNALLAN. 67 
 
 had cause to be displeased, yet was touched by 
 his manner. Elizabeth, on this occasion, did not 
 defend Dunallan, for she too had thought him 
 harsh. When they again met, Catharine's man- 
 ner was distant and somewhat haughty. Eliza- 
 beth's was also colder. Dunallan seemed pain- 
 fully sensible of the change. He endeavoured at 
 different times to induce Catharine to enter into 
 conversation with him, but she purposely avoid- 
 ed it; and once that he found her alone, she 
 turned so markedly from him, that, though he 
 still appeared anxious, by every other means, to 
 regain her approbation, he no longer attempted 
 to resume that intercourse which had, in some 
 degree, subsisted between them before that un- 
 fortunate evening. He looked unhappy, how- 
 ever, and Catharine now felt her power. This 
 almost unconsciously gave her pleasure, which 
 she still more unconsciously betrayed in her man- 
 ner ; and it was Dunallan himself who led her to 
 perceive this : she felt that he read her very soul, 
 and was soon convinced, by the indifference of 
 his manner, that if her displeasure had given 
 him pain, her feeling satisfaction in that pain had 
 not only done it away, but had also lowered her 
 in his opinion.
 
 68 DUNALLAN. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 One evening Lord Dunallan sent for his 
 daughter. On her entering the apartment in 
 which he waited for her, he met her, and with 
 even more than his usual tenderness, pressed her 
 to his heart. 
 
 " My dear Catharine, my beloved child, my 
 long-dreaded trial is at last come ; I must at last 
 part with the idol of my affections." 
 
 Catharine became as pale as death at this sud- 
 den intimation of her approaching fate. For 
 some moments she could not speak ; then strug- 
 gling for composure, — 
 
 " Is Mr. Dunallan still desirous to. . . ." her 
 voice trembled, and she stopt. 
 
 Her Father hesitated, " My love, what is your 
 opinion of Mr. Dunallan ? You now know him. 
 Tell me candidly, my Catharine, your sentiments 
 respecting him." 
 
 " And will my opinion, will my sentiments, 
 have any influence over the future ?" asked Ca- 
 tharine eagerly.
 
 DUNALLAN. 69 
 
 Lord Dunallan looked uneasy : " If, my love, 
 I could make any change ... if you could not feel 
 — but it is impossible. Yet I should wish .... 
 could you only love him, Catharine, Oh ! how 
 happy should I be, happier than I can express." 
 " Be happy, then, my dear Father," replied 
 Catharine, attempting to smile ; but the tears 
 gushed into her eyes, and she turned away to 
 conceal them. 
 
 Her Father remained silent for some moments, 
 then sighing deeply said, " Mr. Dunallan, I 
 think, my Catharine, ought to please. He is 
 mild, and sensible, and polite in his manners ; he 
 is handsome ; his conversation does not seem un- 
 interesting to you ; he is singularly well informed. 
 In short, what do you find disagreeable in Mr. 
 Dunallan ?" 
 
 " I do not find any thing disagreeable," said 
 Catharine ; " but ..." 
 
 " Do you not, my love?" interrupted Lord 
 Dunallan joyfully. " How you delight me ! Well, 
 I will ask no more." 
 
 Catharine smiled languidly; she felt hurt, 
 and made no reply. 
 
 Her Father understood the expression of her 
 countenance, and paused a moment, then pro- 
 ceeded. " I have just had a conversation with 
 Mr. Dunallan. He tells me he has received
 
 70 DUNALLAN. 
 
 letters which oblige him to be in London in a 
 month; he will be detained there some time, 
 and may perhaps go abroad. In short, my love, 
 he wishes to hasten your union, that you may, I 
 suppose, spend a short time at. Arnmore before 
 you leave Scotland ; for there also he has busi- 
 ness of importance, which has met with much 
 delay from his residence here for so many weeks." 
 
 Catharine reddened. " And his convenience 
 makes it necessary, I suppose, to hurry over the 
 business which brought him here ; and you, my 
 Lord, expect me to agree to" .... 
 
 " My love, you do Mr. Dunallan great injus- 
 tice; he has in no instance forgot the respect 
 and delicacy due to you: his first wish seems to 
 be your happiness." 
 
 " My happiness !" repeated Catharine, '' ah, 
 let him leave me with you, then, my dear Father 
 — at least till he has arranged all these affairs." 
 
 " He proposed this, my Child, but I declined 
 it" 
 
 ■11/ • • • • 
 
 " Declined it !" exclaimed Catharine, " im- 
 possible ! Oh, my dear Father, could you so far 
 forget all that is due to your daughter ! to my 
 sex !" 
 
 She rose and stood, with breathless and terri- 
 fied expectation, awaiting his answer.
 
 DUNALLAN. 71 
 
 He in a soothing manner took both her hands: 
 " Be calm, my Catharine, your Father has for- 
 got nothing which your delicacy ought to re- 
 quire; nothing which he can suppose essential 
 to your future happiness. Mr. Dunallan, I am 
 certain, loves you Catharine." 
 
 She turned away. 
 
 " You do not think he does, my love ; but 
 from his whole manner, and the anxious solici- 
 tude he showed respecting your wishes, feelings, 
 and future happiness, I feel convinced you would 
 now be the choice of his heart, were he freed 
 from all engagements." 
 
 " And as a proof of this," said Catharine 
 with bitterness, " he asks delay. Oh, my dear 
 Father, pity me ! do not urge this ! do not thus 
 mortify" .... 
 
 " My love, you must allow me to trust my 
 own judgment in this matter. You entirely mis- 
 take Mr. Dunallan. He only proposes delay 
 with a view to what might be your wish. Recol- 
 lect yourself, my child, and let me hope, my 
 ever kind, ever considerate Catharine, that you 
 will still be willing to fulfil past and indissoluble 
 engagements." 
 
 " And when? my Lord," replied Catharine 
 with assumed firmness.
 
 72 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " My Catharine, I have promised to Mr. Dun- 
 allan, to gain your consent to be his, on Tuesday 
 next." 
 
 " On Tuesday next ! within a week !" she be- 
 came quite pale, but added, in a voice of forced 
 calmness, " My Lord, I shall be ready." 
 
 He held out his hand, she gave him her's, but 
 turned away her face. " Dearest Catharine, you 
 will be happy." She made no reply, but hasten- 
 ing from him, shut herself into her own apart- 
 ment, and gave vent to her miserable and morti- 
 fied feelings. She was unable to appear at din- 
 ner, her head ached so violently. Elizabeth, in 
 vain, tried to offer some consolation. Her wound- 
 ed pride and affection had prevented her gaining 
 any particulars from her father of the manner in 
 which he had declined Dunallan's proposed de- 
 lay: yet the idea that he had hastened their 
 union against Dunallan's wishes, rendered her 
 wretched. She could not regain sufficient com- 
 posure to appear that evening. Her Father, 
 however, visited her in her room ; and his af- 
 fectionate kindness, and the anxiety and deep 
 concern expressed in his countenance, revived in 
 her heart a willingness to sacrifice her own feel- 
 ings to his favourite wishes. 
 
 She next morning appeared at breakfast, but
 
 DUNALLAN. 73 
 
 looked so ill that every one annoyed her by their 
 condolence, and inquiries respecting her health. 
 To Dunallan she never raised her eyes. If she 
 had, she would have seen that he looked as mis- 
 erable as herself. Elizabeth told her so after- 
 wards. 
 
 " My dear Elizabeth," replied she, " do not 
 speak to me of him, or of any thing that is not a 
 thousand miles from the subject, or I shall never 
 be able to support myself till next Tuesday. I 
 will, if possible, make my Father happy. After 
 that, happen what will, I shall be at a distance 
 from him. He will not know what I suffer." 
 
 Elizabeth tenderly watched over her unhappy 
 friend, attempting to sooth her agitated feelings, 
 and to convince her that the power to meet ap- 
 proaching trials, is not to be gained by turning 
 the mind from them; but, on the contrary, by 
 viewing them, as far as may be, in their true co- 
 lours, divested of all imaginary aggravations, 
 and thus preparing for the patient endurance of 
 what is unavoidable. 
 
 " Do not follow me, my Elizabeth," said Catha- 
 rine, the evening after her conversation with her 
 Father, " I am going to the Glen ; I shall not 
 there be interrupted; and I wish to accustom 
 myself to view the future without your kind looks 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 DUN ALLAN. 
 
 and dear voice always ready to win me from pain- 
 ful thought." 
 
 Elizabeth believed her right, and suffered her 
 to go alone. 
 
 After Catharine had walked some time in deep 
 thought, she was suddenly startled by the sound 
 of approaching footsteps. It is Dunallan! thought 
 she ; even this retreat is no longer safe from his 
 privileged intrusion. She would have turned 
 away, but felt ashamed of her weakness; and 
 raising her head from its drooping and thought- 
 ful posture, determined not to be intruded on 
 even by Dunallan. It was young Cameron ; and 
 Catharine felt so relieved when she saw it was 
 not her dreaded cousin, that an expression of 
 pleasure, which Cameron had seldom the hap- 
 piness to inspire, was visible on her countenance. 
 
 " Pardon this intrusion. Miss Dunallan," said 
 he; "I thought you were engaged, or I should 
 not have presumed" .... 
 
 " Oh! I beg, Mr. Cameron, you will walk 
 wherever you feel mclined," interrupted Catha- 
 rine. " There are many paths here for solitary 
 people; but I must at present leave you." She 
 was passing on, when the beseeching expression 
 of his looks stopt her. " Do you wish to read 
 in my retreat, Mr. Cameron ? You will find some 
 
 new books, and I am not going there." 
 
 1
 
 DUNALLAN. 76 
 
 " No, Miss Dunallan, I wish a moment's con- 
 versation with you." 
 
 " Certainly," said Catharine, turning to walk 
 with him. * 
 
 He seemed at a loss, and unable to speak. 
 Catharine looked at him, and his confusion lead- 
 ing her to suspect the truth, she felt sorry that 
 she had consented to listen to him, yet wished as 
 soon as possible to put an end to his suspense. 
 She walked on in silence. At length, after many 
 attempts, he regained sufficient composure to 
 say, in a hurried voice, " Miss Dunallan, it is 
 impossible for any one so deeply interested in 
 your happiness as I am, not to feel miserable in 
 seeing the present state of your feelings, or to 
 help almost execrating the unnatural" .... 
 
 " Mr. Cameron," interrupted Catharine, " I 
 cannot stay to hear any thing of this nature." 
 
 She was turning aw^ay, when he respectfully, 
 yet almost wildly, seized her hand. 
 
 " Forgive Vne ; I know not what I say. Oh, 
 Catharine, if you knew what I have suffered — 
 what I do suffer — but I know you cannot feel for 
 me" .... 
 
 " I do feel for you, Mr. Cameron," interrupt- 
 ed Catharine ; " end, as a proof of it, I entreat 
 you never to think of me more, but as a friend 
 who grieves to think she has ever pained you.
 
 76 DUNALLAN. 
 
 It is impossible you can regain the happiness I 
 wish you, thinking otherwise. Next Tuesday I 
 am to be the wife of Mr. Dunallan." 
 
 " I know it, Catharine; but without loving 
 him. You! the idol of so many hearts — you 
 whom I would die to preserve from the least 
 
 uneasiness, are to Oh ! I cannot endure 
 
 the thought. Hear me, Catharine. I have form- 
 ed a plan to avoid this cruel sacrifice — my mo- 
 ther has consented; — I ask no reward, — I hope 
 for nothing." 
 
 " Mr. Cameron," interrupted Catharine, " you 
 must sav no more. I thank you for the interest 
 you feel in my fate ; but you quite mistake my 
 character, if you think I could thus consent to 
 withdraw from an engagement formed by my 
 Father. Farewell, and for your sake, let me 
 say, for a long time." 
 
 Catharine spoke with a firm calmness, that left 
 Cameron no hope of inducing her to change her 
 sentiments. He pressed her hand to his heart ; 
 " Farewell, then, Catharine, for ever ; my first, 
 my only love, my last." He rushed from her. 
 She looked after him, till the trees concealed him 
 from her sight, then burst into tears. " ^\^lat a 
 world is this!" thought she; " how unhappy 
 the human race. In this remote corner, a few
 
 DUNALLAN. 77 
 
 are met together ; and even here, where all pro- 
 mises peace, the half of them are miserable !" 
 
 She walked slowly towards the house, fearing 
 again to meet young Cameron. 
 
 The party were assembled in a room which 
 opened on the lawn. She heard voices, and ap- 
 proached. As she drew near, she distinguished 
 Dunallan's voice, and Elizabeth's. They seem- 
 ed gay and cheerful. " Is it possible !" thought 
 she, " Elizabeth told me he looked miserable, — 
 and she too, so gay! How foolish to suppose 
 myself of so much consequence to others. I 
 will not cloud their gaiety by my melancholy 
 presence ; yet I could not have thus laughed had 
 Elizabeth been so wretched." Dunallan's voice 
 continued as if reading, and pausing at intervals, 
 whilst the others laughed and talked. Cathariae 
 turned away to go to her own apartment. As 
 she passed, she perceived St. Clair seated in a 
 window, in a melancholy and thoughtful attitude, 
 and apparently unoccupied with what was pass- 
 ing. He started on seeing her, and rose : she 
 bowed and passed on. 
 
 In a few minutes Elizabeth joined her. " You 
 promised to come to us, my dear Catharine, 
 when you returned." 
 
 " I mean to keep my promise," replied Catha- 
 rine, " but I am tired : leave me to rest a little
 
 78 DUNALLAN. 
 
 here. Do not let me, Elizabeth, interrupt your 
 amusements." 
 
 " Amusements ! Catharine, what do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing. — But come now, I am ready to 
 go with you." 
 
 She hastened away from Elizabeth, and joined 
 the party below, who had now become perfectly 
 quiet. St. Clair still sat at the window. He 
 rose on her entrance. She seated herself near 
 the window. " You are admiring the evening, 
 Mr. St. Clair : it is indeed beautiful." 
 
 St. Clair sat down by her. " Beautiful, in- 
 deed," replied he, " but very sad. Those gray 
 clouds, tinged with the last rays of the sun, be- 
 coming fainter every moment, always remind me 
 of something melancholy." 
 
 *' I feel the same," said Catharine ; " the set- 
 ting sun always reminds me of death ! that last 
 setting ! that departure to other climes !" 
 
 " Let us go into the next room, or have lights 
 here," said Lord Dunallan. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Father, allow us to enjoy this 
 peaceful twilight," said Catharine in an entreat- 
 ing tone of voice. 
 
 " Surely, my love, if you wish it." He ap- 
 proached and stood near her; " but we must 
 leave such gloomy subjects, Mr. St. Clair. Where
 
 DUNALLAN. 79 
 
 is that strange poem you were reading, Mr. Dun- 
 allan ? Perhaps there still may be sufficient light 
 to read it to Catharine." 
 
 Dunallan found the poem; and, bringing it to 
 the window, began to read. All laughed a se- 
 cond time. Catharine could hardly smile : she 
 was not in a humour to laugh at any thing, and 
 wondered that any one could. St. Clair smiled 
 contemptuously, and she better understood his 
 feelings. Dunallan had not spoken since she 
 entered the room; and she never looked at him 
 vmtil he was reading this poem ; indeed she had 
 avoided looking at him for many days, and was 
 now struck with the languor and paleness of his 
 countenance, as well as with the little real cheer- 
 fulness he seemed to feel while he laughed with 
 the others. When he stopped reading he turn-» 
 ed his eyes towards Catharine. Hers were fixed 
 on him, and she withdrew them without that ex- 
 pression of displeasure, which ever since her con- 
 versation with her Father had filled them when 
 she was in any way called upon to notice Dun- 
 allan. He ventured to approach her, and said, 
 in a voice of extreme gentleness, " you seem fa- 
 tigued. Miss Dunallan; I fear you have walked 
 too far." 
 
 " Yes," answered Catharine, " I believe I 
 have;" she almost unconsciously added, looking
 
 80 DUNALLAN. 
 
 at Dunallan with an expression of concern, " are 
 you quite well, Mr. Dunallan ?" 
 
 " Perfectly so," replied he, a slight flush 
 tinging his forehead. He looked down for a mo- 
 ment, but his eyes still retained an expression 
 of pleasure when he again raised them. 
 
 The conversation now became more general. 
 When the sun was set, and it was become too 
 dark to see the expression of any one's counte- 
 nance, young Cameron glided into the room, and 
 seated himself at a distance from Catharine. 
 He sometimes joined in the conversation, and no 
 one would have suspected him of being more un- 
 happy than usual. 
 
 When Catharine retired to her room for the 
 night, she found a letter on her table. She open- 
 ed it, exclaiming, " a letter from St. Clair !" Eliza- 
 beth was with her. " What can he have to say 
 to you, Catharine?" 
 
 " A strange proposal," said Catharine after 
 reading it. " How little does he know me." 
 She threw his letter indignantly from her. 
 
 Elizabeth took it up. " May I read it, Catha- 
 rine ?" 
 
 '* I believe I ought not to betray his secret; 
 but you, Elizabeth, may know it. He is so vain, 
 so conceited, I can never wish him to stand higli 
 in your opinion."
 
 DUNALLAN. 81 
 
 Elizabeth read the letter. " Poor St. Clair," 
 said she, " he flatters himself he is not indiffer- 
 ent to you."- 
 
 " If he had not been so before," replied Catha- 
 rine, " this would have made him so. An elope- 
 ment ! Had he known my character as he pre- 
 tends in this letter to do, he would have been 
 convinced that I would sooner endure any misery 
 than escape from it by such means. I would 
 sooner die than degrade myself even for those I 
 could love." 
 
 " Proud Catharine," said Elizabeth, smiling, 
 " you know not what love is." 
 
 " I certainly do not know, Elizabeth, nor can 
 I even conceive what that sort of love is which 
 could induce me to take such a degrading step as 
 this. I cannot imagine myself so deluded as to 
 suppose I could be happy after I had rendered 
 myself the object of my own contempt. But give 
 me this letter. It does not pain me to disappoint 
 this vain St. Clair. I wish he was gone, and his 
 mother also, whose haughty spirit begins, I see, 
 to revolt at the little effect her flattery and ca- 
 resses have on me. I loathe all this, Elizabeth. 
 I almost think Arnmore and Mr. Dunallan's con- 
 temptuous treatment, will be less intolerable than 
 those incessant women, Mrs. Lennox and Mrs.
 
 82 DUNALLAN. 
 
 St. Clair, with their gross flattery, and teazing 
 disgusting attentions." 
 
 " Dear Catharine, you are very severe." 
 
 " No, Elizabeth ; I am not unjustly so. Don't 
 I see through all this ? Is not Rose as amiable — 
 far more amiable than I am ? Are not you, Eliza- 
 beth, more " 
 
 " No, no, no, dear Catharine; but goodnight; 
 you will leave yourself no time for sleep, and that 
 pale face sadly calls for it." 
 
 " Do not mind my face, Elizabeth ; it must be 
 paler yet. You must see my reply to this letter ; 
 I feel so indignant, I fear I shall be unbecoming- 
 ly so in what I write." 
 
 Next morning, neither St. Clair nor young Ca- 
 meron appeared at breakfast. Lady Cameron 
 said her son had been unexpectedly called away, 
 and that she and her family must also deny them- 
 selves the pleasure of a further stay at Dunallan 
 Castle, as business made it necessary that Sir 
 Archibald should return home. Lord Dunallan 
 seemed disappointed, and entreated them to pro- 
 long their stay to the following week. Catharine 
 was silent. Lady Cameron, however, was gently 
 determined in her resolution, though she looked 
 concerned, and her daughters very grave. Lord 
 Dunallan perceived that something had happen-
 
 DUNALLAN. 83 
 
 ed, and guessed from Catharine's looks that she 
 was the cause of this sudden determination. Mrs. 
 St. Clair's colour this morning was higher than 
 usual, but she attempted to conceal her disap- 
 pointed pride and hopes under an air of contempt. 
 " I too must unfortunately relinquish the plea- 
 sure of being present during the next happy week, 
 my Lord," said she, after Lady Cameron had an- 
 nounced her intended departure, " but it is easy 
 to part from friends when we leave them so se- 
 cure of felicity." Catharine felt this speech as it 
 was intended, but remained silent. Both families 
 left Dunallan Castle during the forenoon; but 
 Lord Dunallan was relieved from his dread of a 
 very small party by the arrival of young Clan- 
 mar and his amiable wife. 
 
 '' I must really endeavour, my dear Elizabeth," 
 said Catharine to her friend, " to conceal, for 
 these few remaining days, the misery I endure. I 
 feel mortified and degraded by what has already 
 passed, in consequence of my giving way to my 
 wretched feelings. I must not — shall not be an 
 object of compassion to every one, and of distress 
 to my father. Do not look so much and so 
 anxiously at me when I am in company, Eliza- 
 beth, and try to speak cheerfully to me. Oh 
 that conversation between my father and Dunal- 
 lan ! could I only forget that. But to be forced
 
 84 DUNALLAN. 
 
 upon him ; he to ask delay !" She clasped her 
 hands in anguish of mind. 
 
 " I have entreated your father, dearest Catha- 
 rine, to tell me what passed on that occasion, and 
 I do not thinly you have any reason to suppose 
 Mr. Dunallan wished for delay on any account, 
 but your apparent indifference to him." 
 
 " Did my father tell you what passed ? Do not," 
 for heaven's sake, conceal it from me, Elizabeth : 
 truth cannot be worse than my fears." 
 
 " Lord Dunallan told me that the only idea 
 which seemed to distress Dunallan was your mark- 
 ed indifference, he even thought dislike to him, 
 which led him to fear your being led by motives 
 of obedience to your father, to take vows which 
 your heart could not ratify. In short, my dear 
 Catharine, some religious scruples which he felt 
 for you only : and this convinced me that the 
 state of his own feelings enables him to take them 
 without scruple : for with his strict notions he 
 would not have considered himself innocent in so 
 doing had he felt otherwise." 
 
 " And would he have been innocent, Eliza- 
 beth ? or shall I be innocent ?" 
 
 " Ah ! Catharine, you must not now think of 
 this. It is too late : besides, you fulfil a first 
 duty in obeying your father."
 
 DUNALLAN. 85 
 
 Catharine was not convinced, but felt that it 
 was, as Elizabeth said, too late to plead such an 
 excuse. Yet, like her friend, she could not help 
 concluding that Dunallan would not be willing, 
 probably, to take these solemn vows were he 
 averse to fulfilling them. Yet he had asked de- 
 lay. She determined, if possible, to avoid think- 
 ing, and to attempt to appear less unhappy, let 
 Dunallan suppose what he would. She wished 
 to leave her father, under the impression that she 
 was reconciled to his wishes. For the few fol- 
 lowing days her countenance wore an expression 
 of submission, and calm elevation of mind, in- 
 spired by the consciousness of sacrificing her own 
 feelings to those of her father ; while the pale- 
 ness of her looks, and her touching gentleness to 
 all around her, gave her the appearance of one 
 who had lost all hope for herself, and only sought 
 to bestow on others what was for her gone for 
 ever. When addressing her father, she even at- 
 tempted to be cheerful. To Dunallan she was 
 respectful and attentive, as if she already had 
 taken the vow of subjection. Yet she deceived 
 no one. When she met Dunallan's eyes, which 
 she carefully avoided, but which seemed for ever 
 fixed on her, she saw in them an expression of 
 pity and concern she could not mistake. Her
 
 86 DUNALLAN. 
 
 father, too, in vain tried to affect a gaiety, 
 which only served to render his next moments 
 of absence, and evidently painful thought, more 
 striking.
 
 DUNALLAN. 87 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 At last the dreaded morning arrived. Eliza- 
 beth went to her friend at an early hour : she 
 found her dressed, and seated at a table, which 
 was covered with letters and papers. 
 
 " What is all this, my Catharine ? Remem- 
 ber, my dear friend, the fatigues of this day." 
 
 " I do remember, my Elizabeth. I am only 
 performing a necessary duty. It ought not to 
 have been so long neglected ; but never till last 
 night did it so forcibly strike me that I might not 
 again see Dunallan Castle : I had quite forgot to 
 settle some things. But I have done," added 
 she, putting up her papers with a composure that 
 astonished Elizabeth ; then turning to her friend, 
 a faint smile on her languid countenance, 
 
 " How do you like my bridal attire, Eliza- 
 beth ?" 
 
 Elizabeth looked at her for a moment, then 
 turned away to conceal her tears. 
 
 " Dear Catharine, do not look so patient, so 
 resigned, yet so unhappy. You will leave us all 
 quite miserable."
 
 88 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " I look as I feel, Elizabeth. I am resigned. 
 I have now arranged all I wish to be done, should 
 I never again return here, and I care not what 
 happens. I am prepared for every thing, but (her 
 voice changed) parting from you : (then feel- 
 ing herself overcome,) I must not think of this — 
 we shall soon again meet. I shall wTite, — No, 
 dear Elizabeth, do not embrace me ; do nothing 
 to soften me. I have almost wished these few 
 days for Mrs. St. Clair, instead of that gentle Mrs. 
 Clanmar, who looks so sweetly anxious to com- 
 fort me, and to gain my confidence ; and my dear 
 kind Rose, and even you, Elizabeth. I entreat 
 you do not all gaze on me with looks of such 
 touching interest. Even Mr. Dunallan ; but I 
 must not think of him : had he felt pity for me 
 sooner ; but it is now too late. Oh that the 
 next hour were over ! When will it be time for 
 breakfast? You know we were to set off very 
 early. When I am gone, Elizabeth, will you as- 
 sure my father " Her voice failed, and she 
 
 turned away and walked to an open window. The 
 morning was calm and beautiful, and the fresh- 
 ness of the air revived her. She sat down, but 
 rose again almost immediately, a blush crimsoning 
 her before pale cheek. 
 
 " Mr. Dunallan," said she, retiring hastily 
 from the window, " returning as usual from his
 
 DUNALLAN. 89 
 
 morning walk, I suppose, quite composed ; and he 
 has seen that I am ready," added she, bitterly, and 
 looking at her dress. " He bowed, too, to show 
 he did perhaps. Well, a short time will unde- 
 ceive him now. I shall soon have no secrets from 
 him ; no attempts to conceal my real feelings : he 
 shall know that I have a heart that can be given 
 only by myself; and calm, and proud, and im- 
 moveably right as he always is, he shall not de- 
 spise me." 
 
 " Despise you, Catharine ! he does not ; he 
 never did. I am satisfied he, I could almost say, 
 loves you." 
 
 A gentle tap at the door of the apartment in- 
 terrupted Elizabeth. Catharine became quite pale. 
 It was Lord Dunallan. 
 
 " My Catharine, my dear love, we wait for 
 you." 
 
 Catharine attempted to regain her composure, 
 but without success. She leant on her father, 
 but stopped on the stairs to breathe, her heart 
 beat so violently that she became quite faint. 
 
 " My dear uncle," said Elizabeth, " let Catha- 
 rine and me remain together till after breakfast. 
 It is too much for her to see all our assembled 
 friends before this trying ceremony." Lord 
 Dunallan agreed to this proposal ; and Catharine 
 returned to her room with Elizabeth, who en-
 
 90 DUNALLAN. 
 
 deavoured to induce her to take some refresh- 
 ment. She tried, but in vain. She was sick at 
 heart. 
 
 " I cannot go through this ceremony, Eliza- 
 beth." 
 
 " Dear Catharine, recollect yourself. It is not 
 possible now to retract." 
 
 " Leave me, dear Elizabeth. I regain compo- 
 sure most easily when alone. Take this last kiss, 
 my Elizabeth ; after I am again calm, do not be- 
 stotr one kind word or look upon me, or I shall 
 be unable for this dreadful exhibition — these fear- 
 ful untrue vows !" 
 
 Elizabeth would not consent to leave her 
 friend. She saw that the kind of composure she 
 acquired when left alone, was only the result of 
 an attempt to feel indifferent to every thing, and 
 that the first trifle which awakened her feelings 
 destroyed her composure. Elizabeth partly suc- 
 ceeded in calming her agitation, by representing 
 things as they really were. 
 
 " I am ready, my dear Elizabeth," said Catha- 
 rine at last, " my true, my best friend !" 
 
 Lord Dunallan entered, and Catharine became 
 as pale as ever. She took his arm, however, 
 and hastened forward, as if afraid of again being 
 obliged to return.
 
 DUNALLAN. 91 
 
 Lord Dunallan opened the door of the apart- 
 ment in which the party were assembled. Ca- 
 tharine shrunk back for a moment, then suffered 
 her father to lead her forward. In an instant 
 Dunallan was at her side, and the voice of the 
 old and venerable clergyman of Dunallan church 
 was raised to heaven in prayer. Catharine, pale 
 as marble, and almost as still, leant on her fa- 
 ther, and seemed to listen, but did not hear. 
 Dunallan audibly assented to the few simple but 
 solemn vows he was required to make. Catha- 
 rine's assent was supposed. Elizabeth drew her 
 white glove from a hand almost as white and life- 
 less. Dunallan took it in his, and she was re- 
 stored to some degree of consciousness by feeling 
 that his trembled. He held her hand firmly, how- 
 ever, till the short ceremony was over, then 
 touching it with his lips, resigned it to her fa- 
 ther. 
 
 Lord Dunallan would have pressed Catharine 
 to his heart, but she hurried from him, and from 
 every one. Elizabeth followed her, but she waved 
 her hand for her to leave her. Her father ap- 
 peared : " Your journey is long, my love ; my 
 Catharine, I must hurry you from me. Mr. Dun- 
 allan is anxious " 
 
 Catharine started up : "I am ready." 
 
 " God for ever bless my dearest child."
 
 92 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " Oh my dearest father !" 
 
 He pressed her for an instant to his heart, 
 then led her away. Dunallan was waiting. The 
 hall was full of servants, anxious to have a last 
 look of their beloved young mistress. 
 
 Catharine shrunk back. 
 
 " I shall say adieu for you," exclaimed Eliza- 
 beth ; " Adieu, adieu, every one," cried she, with 
 forced gaiety, while Lord Dunallan supported 
 Catharine into the carriage. 
 
 Dunallan followed ; and Catharine's heart sunk 
 within her, when its door was closed on her, 
 and this most dreaded, but now nearest of all 
 human relations. She threw herself back and 
 almost fainted. 
 
 Dunallan would have stopped the carriage, but 
 Catharine motioned with her hand to prevent him. 
 She dreaded her father seeing her agitation. 
 
 Dunallan watched her changing countenance 
 with the deepest concern. Catharine felt annoy- 
 ed, conscious that his looks were bent on her, 
 though she did not raise her eves, and strugfrled 
 to regain composure. She attempted to let down 
 the glass next to her : Dunallan leant past to 
 assist, but his hand trembled almost as much as 
 her own, and she was struck with surprise at the 
 expression of distress and agitation which his 
 countenance now betrayed ; she even thought his
 
 DUNALLAN. 93 
 
 eyes glistened as he turned his face from her. 
 The calm grave expression with which her ima- 
 gination always pictured him, was now wholly 
 gone. She forgot her own -feelings in thinking 
 of his, and continuing in deep and painful thought 
 for a few moments, the tumult within in part sub- 
 sided. How selfish have I been, thought she, I 
 forgot that he could feel, and that he has equal, 
 perhaps greater cause of distress than myself. 
 
 " The air, I hope, revives you," asked Dun- 
 allan, in a mild and soothing tone of voice. 
 
 She attempted to reply, but burst into tears ; 
 and long repressed, they now flowed beyond all 
 power of restraint. She covered her face, and 
 turning away from Dunallan, wept and sobbed 
 aloud. Dunallan did not speak, but she heard 
 him sigh frequently and deeply. He at last, in 
 the gentlest tone of voice, entreated her to be 
 composed. 
 
 " Endeavour, Catharine, to forget the last few 
 hours : only remember that you have now an- 
 other friend, who has vowed in the sight of heaven 
 to watch over your happiness. You shall your- 
 self determine in what that happiness shall con- 
 sist. I have seen too plainly your repugnance to 
 the interested connection which your generous 
 sense of duty has induced you to form. I have 
 tried every means in my power, Catharine, to set
 
 94 DUNALLAN. 
 
 you free, but all have failed ; and I have been 
 most reluctantly forced to tear you from your 
 home, and deprive you of the power of choosing 
 your nearest friend and protector. All that I can 
 at this moment hope is, that it may be in my 
 power to render you at least not unhappy." 
 
 Catharine became gradually calm as Dunallan 
 spoke. His voice and manner were so soothingly 
 earnest and kind, that she felt touched. 
 
 " Let us, Catharine," continued he, " now 
 attempt to look at things as they really are. 
 There is no peace or calm to the mind but in 
 truth." 
 
 " Truth !" repeated Catharine, in a tone of 
 voice, and with an expression of the most mourn- 
 ful despondency. 
 
 " Yes, dear Catharine, truth even at this mo- 
 ment; and first, can you not feel me worthy of 
 forgiveness in persevering in the fulfilment of the 
 same promise to a dead father, that with every 
 feeling of dislike and repugnance on your part, 
 you have yet considered it a sacred duty to fulfil 
 to a living one ?" Catharine was struck ; this 
 simple question of Dunallan's seemed indeed to 
 bring a volume of truth into her mind ; but her 
 thoughts were confused, and she remained si- 
 lent. Dunallan, however, seemed to wait for 
 her reply.
 
 DUNALLAN. 95 
 
 " Mr. Dunallan," said she at last, sick at heart 
 while she spoke, " I cannot feel that truth brings 
 to me either calmness or peace. I would rather 
 attempt to forget every thing, but that I have, to 
 please my father, entered a situation in which it 
 becomes my duty to try to be satisfied with your 
 conduct on all occasions. I wish to fulfil this 
 duty ; if I fail, you will perhaps feel indulgence 
 for me when you recollect " 
 
 Catharine's voice failed, and she could say no 
 more. 
 
 Dunallan turned away, and Catharine looked 
 up, half conscious that she had answered his true 
 and simple appeal with an ungenerous evasion. 
 She was surprised and overcome on seeiijg that 
 the cold, dreaded, Dunallan was moved even to 
 tears. 
 
 " Catharine !" exclaimed he, after making se- 
 veral efforts to speak with composure, " How 
 shall I — how can I convince you that I am not 
 the unfeeling, selfish, interested, cruel being, I 
 see you suppose me ? You have scarcely ever 
 permitted me to speak to you. Of late you have 
 not even deigned to look at me. You have de- 
 feated every attempt on my part to explain my- 
 self — to attempt to assist you to be free. You 
 have taken no notice of my letters ; your father 
 has been equally — shall I say, unjust, to me ?"
 
 96 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " Letters ! Mr. Dunallan," interrupted Ca- 
 tharine. " I received no letters from you." 
 
 Dunallan looked surprised. " I thrice wrote 
 to you, Catharine, when you denied me every 
 means of imparting to you what I thought might 
 perhaps have put it in your power to avoid a con- 
 nection which I saw was so hateful to you." 
 
 " I never received any letter from you, Mr. 
 Dunallan," repeated Catharine, solemnly. 
 
 " Extraordinary !" exclaimed Dunallan, " I 
 sent for your own woman, Catharine ; her name, I 
 think, is Martin, and myself gave all my letters 
 into her hand." 
 
 Catharine now, on her part, looked much sur- 
 prised. " You gave your letters to Martin ! Mr. 
 Dunallan." 
 
 " I did ; all of them." 
 
 Catharine became very thoughtful. Could any 
 one — could St. Clair have intercepted Dunallan's 
 letters ? Impossible ! She could not for a mo- 
 ment suspect Martin, to whom they had been in- 
 trusted, of the smallest unfaithfulness. " Most 
 extraordinary I" said she thoughtfully. 
 
 " Is Martin among your present attendants, 
 Catharine ?" asked Dunallan. 
 
 " She is." 
 
 " May I then ask an explanation from her ?" 
 
 " Certainly."
 
 DUNALLAN. 97 
 
 Dunallan stopped the carriage, and desired a 
 servant to request Martin, who was in another 
 just behind, to come for a moment to the win- 
 dow. She soon appeared, and the other servants 
 retired. Martin looked alarmed. She stood 
 at the side of the carriage at which Catharine 
 sat. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," said Dunallan gently, 
 and leaning past Catharine a little to speak to 
 her : " Do you recollect, Martin, my giving you 
 three letters at different times to deliver to your 
 lady ?" 
 
 " I do, Sir, perfectly. It was only last night 
 you gave me one, and two before that, about, I 
 think " 
 
 " And what became of those letters, Martin ?" 
 asked Catharine, interrupting her, and now 
 leaning forward with looks of surprise and dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 Martin appeared astonished at the question. 
 
 " Speak the truth, Martin," said Catharine, 
 her eyes filling with tears as she added, " Can 
 you, Martin, be unfaithful to me ?" 
 
 " My dear, dear young lady, no ; not for all 
 the world could offer," exclaimed Martin, tears 
 gushing into her eyes as she spoke ; " I thought 
 I was only giving the letters to Lord Dunallan, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 DUNALLAN. 
 
 as he commanded me, that he might himself de- 
 liver them to you." 
 
 Catharine sunk back : " You gave the letters 
 to my father," said she faintly. 
 
 " Yes, Madam : just the very day on which 
 Mr. Dunallan trusted me with his first letter, my 
 Lord had commanded me to bring any letter for 
 my young lady to him, and he would himself take 
 charge of it»" 
 
 Dunallan looked for a moment at Catharine ; 
 her eyes were raised timidly to him. 
 
 " That is enough," said he, in the gentlest tone 
 of voice, to poor Martin, who stood in apparent 
 consternation. " You have done nothing wrong, 
 Martin : we may now proceed." He waited till 
 she had retired, then ordered the servants to drive 
 on ; and, turning to Catharine — 
 
 " I now feel how much cause you have to re- 
 gard me as you do, Catharine. You have consi- 
 dered me as calmly persevering in completing 
 your wretchedness, without an effort to make 
 escape possible. I am not surprised that you 
 could not bring yourself to say I deserved for- 
 giveness." 
 
 " Forgiveness ! Mr. Dunallan," repeated Ca- 
 tharine, " I now see too plainly who it is that 
 has most — that has all to forgive. I can scarce- 
 ly, however, hope that you can pardon this last
 
 DUNALLAN. 99 
 
 — — " she hesitated : " Yet if you could sus- 
 pend forming your judgment on this, to me, un- 
 accountable proceeding of my father's, I feel cer- 
 tain he will be able to convince you that his mo- 
 tives were perfectly honourable." Catharine again 
 burst into tears, overpowered and mortified be- 
 yond expression. 
 
 " I am convinced, my dearest Catharine, that, 
 according to Lord Dunallan's views, they were 
 perfectly so," replied Dunallan. " I have had 
 many conversations with him. I hoped to have 
 induced him at least to have given me time to at- 
 tempt to overcome the prejudices with which 
 you met me : but he seemed to feel that his en- 
 gagement to my father made every moment of de- 
 lay which he could prevent a breach of honour 
 on his part. And you know, Catharine, that, in- 
 dependent of all this, a father is fully entitled to 
 be acquainted with the contents of any letter ad- 
 dressed to his child while she remains under his 
 protection. I shall now only say, that my ob- 
 ject in writing these letters was, to make you 
 aware that my promise to my father was entirely 
 conditional, and was to be considered cancelled 
 if you were averse to its completion. I hoped 
 that the knowledge of this might have put it in 
 your power to be free." 
 Catharine shook her head.
 
 100 DUNALLAN. 
 
 a 
 
 Your father assured me that you did not de- 
 sire to be free ; but your every look contradicted 
 the assertion." 
 
 " My promise was never conditional," said 
 Catharine ; " that could have made no change on 
 my part." 
 
 " It might, however, on the part I should have 
 taken, Catharine. But that is past." 
 
 Catharine at once saw his meaning. " Yes ; 
 that is past !" repeated she emphatically. Now 
 I see too plainly how unjustly, how childishly, 
 how madly I have acted ! Mr. Dunallan, I will 
 now say I have perceived your opinion of me. I 
 have resented it ; but you have not been unjust ; 
 I have deserved it. I can scarcely hope ever to 
 obtain j^our forgiveness, but " 
 
 " Dearest Catharine, do not talk thus," inter- 
 rupted Dunallan; " let us exchange forgiveness 
 for the past. Neither has been quite free from 
 blame with regard to the other ; but far, far the 
 jrreatest share belongs to me. When I last re- 
 newed my promise to my father, I ought to have 
 been more firm to my own sense of right — to my 
 own principles." 
 
 " In our promises, Mr. Dunallan," said Ca- 
 tharine mournfully, " I must feel that we have 
 been more ' sinned against than sinning ;* but I 
 wish not to remember this."
 
 DUNALLAN. 101 
 
 " No, dearest Catharine, it is not our part to 
 remember it. Let us only remember our own 
 share in what is past ; and where we have erred, 
 let us begin to attempt averting those painful con- 
 sequences which are always attendant on error." 
 
 " If that were possible," said Catharine still 
 mournfully. 
 
 " It may be possible, dearest Catharine. Al- 
 low me to attempt to prove this to you." Dun- 
 allan now spoke in a cheerful tone of voice. " We 
 have brought the past in some measure into the 
 light of reality and truth; may I venture to go 
 for a moment into the future. You know that in 
 a few weeks I must leave Arnmore. I fear that 
 during those few weeks, your father will not be 
 satisfied unless you remain there also ; but you 
 shall, my dearest Catharine, be as free at Arn- 
 more as you were at Dunallan Castle. Your 
 cousin Elizabeth has promised to come to you. 
 I earnestly wished she could have accompanied 
 us now ; but to this Lord Dunallan objected. 
 My aunt leaves Arnmore immediately, unless you 
 should wish her to be your guest until your cou- 
 sin joins you. Miss Lennox, or any friend of 
 yours will, I am sure, find pleasure in making the 
 solitude of Arnmore less tedious to you. In 
 short, my dear Catharine, my part in attempting 
 to do away the painful consequences of my er-
 
 102 DUNALLAN. 
 
 rors regarding you, shall first be to anticipate 
 your every wish as far as it is in my power. Only 
 let me know your wishes. I now consider your 
 happiness as my first earthly care. As to myself, 
 Catharine," — Dunallan became embarrassed ; but 
 recovering himself, " I do not know in what cha- 
 racter to ask you to consider me. To thatwhich the 
 ceremony of the last hour seemed to entitle me I 
 shall never lay claim, while you feel for me as you 
 do at present. Nothing on earth, Catharine," add- 
 ed he earnestly, " could induce me to remind you 
 of that claim, while you so evidently detest it. 
 You have just said, that you have perceived what 
 opinion I have formed of you, and have resented 
 it. Your adding this, proves to me that you have 
 been mistaken. I shall say no more now. I know 
 how little any profession of regard from one, for 
 whom you feel as you do for me, can be agreeable 
 to you. Yet, may I ask you to attempt to forget 
 many things which I know you have heard against 
 me ; to judge of me for yourself, as of one whose 
 character, from circumstances now unavoidable, 
 you would wish to be such as you could esteem." 
 
 " I should certainly wish most earnestly to do 
 so, Mr. Dunallan," replied Catharine. 
 
 " Let it be so then, Catharine. Attempt to 
 consider me as one, who is really still almost a 
 stranger to you, but who most earnestly desires
 
 DUNALLAN. 103 
 
 to obtain a place in your esteem. Is this settled, 
 Catharine ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Catharine ; "if you too, Mr. 
 Dunallan, would attempt the same with regard to 
 me" — she spoke with embarrassment, and blushed 
 as she spoke ; but the tone of her voice had re- 
 sumed something of its usual animation; and Dun- 
 allan's joyful assent to her wish, as far as it was pos- 
 sible, settled the arrangement for the few follow- 
 ing weeks. " If at the end of those weeks of my 
 probation," said Dunallan, " you can feel for me 
 differently ; — but I shall say no more now." 
 
 From that moment Dunallan's manner became 
 frank and unembarrassed, and he began to con- 
 verse on subjects just sufficiently connected with 
 their present situation to render them deeply in- 
 teresting. He at last spoke of Arnmore, and 
 mentioned his aunt. Catharine made some in- 
 quiries respecting this new relation, and was soon 
 in tears while listening to a few particulars of her 
 melancholy story, and to Dunallan's description 
 of her resignation, her restored cheerfulness, her 
 active life. 
 
 " She shall herself tell you the source of her 
 cheerfulness and strength of mind, Catharine," 
 said Dunallan ; and then passing to other sub- 
 jects, his unrestrained, but gentle and respectful 
 manner, gradually led Catharine to converse and
 
 104 DUNALLAN. 
 
 feel at ease with him, and almost to forget that 
 he was the same dreaded Dunallan, whose pre- 
 sence had so long been a restraint to her, and his 
 idea her constant misery. She soon conversed 
 freely with him, looked with interest for his an- 
 swer, or for the impression made on him by the 
 sentiments and opinions she was led to express, 
 and which his countenance instantly betrayed. 
 He still differed frequently from her, both in feel- 
 ing and in opinion ; but a mild indulgence, and 
 an anxious desire to explain his reasons for dif- 
 fering, joined to great apparent pleasure when he 
 had won her to his way of thinking, made even 
 difference of opinion agreeable. 
 
 " You are leading me on to tell you my inmost 
 thoughts, that you may condemn them," said she 
 to him, after having expressed an opinion from 
 which she saw he differed. 
 
 " Not to condemn, dearest Catharine. I only 
 wish our opinions were the same on every sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " I wish so too," replied she smiling, " I know 
 who would be the gainer. However, I can bear 
 to differ from you now : at Dunallan Castle I 
 could not." 
 
 " Because at Dunallan Castle, when vou dif- 
 fered from me, all your friends did so also, parti- 
 cularly Mr. St. Clair, who always made your ar-
 
 DUNALLAN. 105 
 
 gument his own. Had he really dissented be- 
 cause his opinions were different, I ought either 
 to have tried to convince him, or to be convinced 
 by him ; but as he merely wished to make a merit 
 with you by differing from me, and would have 
 done the same had you argued on the opposite 
 side, I thought it best to be silent, though I saw 
 the unfavourable impression my silence made on 
 you; but I dreaded losing my temper also, and 
 then a quarrel must have been the consequence ; 
 and you, Catharine, do not perhaps know how 
 important it is for a man, professing the princi- 
 ples I do, to guard against being brought by his 
 own loss of temper, into a situation from which 
 those principles forbid his extricating himself in 
 the usual way. I sometimes too felt for Mr. St. 
 Clair. You know, Catharine, he deserved pity ; 
 yet I think he ought to have pitied me also ; for 
 surely seeing, as he must have done, how repug- 
 nant to your feelings my presence was, he would 
 not have changed situations with me." 
 
 " Thank heaven," said Catharine emphatical- 
 ly, " that Mr. St. Clair was not in your situa- 
 tion !" 
 
 Dunallan's smile of pleasure brought a blush 
 to Catharine's cheek; but he turned away, and 
 soon again spoke as if he had not perceived it.
 
 106 DUNALLAN. 
 
 The travellers stopt during the hottest part of 
 the day at the beautiful village of B . Ca- 
 tharine had remarked Dunallan's uncommon 
 powers of conversation even at Dunallan Castle, 
 where he had been checked and restrained by 
 the cold looks and manners of most of the party. 
 This day she had felt those powers in their full 
 force. She scarcely observed how time passed. 
 An hour after she had been with him, she had 
 forgot the peculiarity of their situation, which 
 seldom again returned to her recollection, except- 
 ing when a change of horses, or other incidents, 
 interrupted conversation, and drew her attention 
 from the last interesting sentence he had uttered. 
 When however she learnt, on leaving the village of 
 
 B , that they were within a few miles of Arn- 
 
 more, her thoughts became too powerfully op- 
 pressive for even Dunallan's conversation to sus- 
 pend or overcome. It was evening ; a calm gray 
 evening after a day of bright sunshine. A soft 
 mist rose from the fields, and enveloped the lower 
 parts of the woods, and slowly ascended the hills. 
 Catharine had answeredDunallan several times 
 without scarcely having heard what he said. She 
 thought of her approaching interview with Ids 
 aunt; of being received as the wife of Dunallan ; 
 of him also, though she heard not what he said; 
 of his consideration for her; of his delicacy and
 
 DUNALLAN, 107 
 
 kindness. " I may trust him," thought she, " but 
 how will this aunt receive me ? Can she know 
 our feelings for each other ?" She sighed deep- 
 ly. At last Dunallan addressed her in a tone so 
 very serious, yet so mild, that it immediately ar- 
 rested her attention. 
 
 " I ought, I believe, my dear Catharine, to 
 prepare you for some singularities which you will 
 meet at Arnmore. You know my opinions on 
 some subjects are very different from those you 
 have been accustomed to consider just and ration- 
 al. At Arnmore you will find those opinions influ- 
 ence all around you, and this at first may be irk- 
 some, or even may disgust you ; but let me en- 
 treat you not to form your opinions until you 
 have examined for yourself. Do not let preju- 
 dice mislead you. I once thought as you now do, 
 Catharine : may heaven avert from you the pain- 
 ful means by which my eyes were opened." 
 
 Catharine listened with fixed attention. 
 
 " I will not say more now, Catharine ; I only 
 ask that in one thing you will oblige me. I do 
 not prescribe to you, however, remember, dearest 
 Catharine." 
 
 " Whatever you ask," interrupted she, " I am 
 ready to comply with." 
 
 " All I wish is, that you will submit to some 
 new forms you will find in our mode of living at
 
 108 DUNALLAN. 
 
 Arnmore — at least until you are convinced they 
 are wrong." 
 
 " Is this all," said Catharine. " But may I 
 ask what are those opinions which I still enter- 
 tain, and by the relinquishing of which you think 
 your eyes were opened ? What are they ? 
 
 " One is, my dear Catharine" 
 
 An acclamation of joy interrupted Dunallan. 
 " It is Mr. Dunallan ! They are coming ! They are 
 coming ! Welcome ! Welcome ! God bless vou, 
 Sir," echoed on all sides, and the carriage was in- 
 stantly surrounded by people, — young, old, wo- 
 men, children, all joined in the shout of joy and 
 welcome. Catharine shrunk back ; Dunallan en- 
 treated her not to be disturbed, saying he would 
 " stop those congratulations, so unseasonable," 
 added he. 
 
 An old man now approached, his blue bonnet 
 in his hand, and his gray hairs gently moved from 
 his thin temples by the wind. " God bless you. 
 Sir? God bless your lady !" Then looking with 
 apparent delight at Catharine, " May she, for 
 your sake. Sir, be as gude as she is bonny ! We 
 have come to be the first to meet and wish vou 
 joy, Sir." Then addressing Catharine, " There's 
 jio ane amanjx us but wad hae been wanderers in 
 a strange country, and cast out frae our hames, if 
 it had na been for our vouncj laird ; but he like^
 
 DUN ALLAN. 109 
 
 irrateful hearts on his estate rather than new 
 schemes. He's the only gentleman in a' the coun- 
 try that" 
 
 " My good McDonald," interrupted Dunallan, 
 " We thank you ; but have you forgot that young 
 ladies do not like such noisy welcomes. We shall 
 soon see you at your own houses ; but let us pass 
 quietly now, and tell my other friends around 
 you, that I entreat them also to reserve their wel- 
 comes till another time for their young lady." 
 
 The old man now smiled ; " I had forgotten, 
 Sir, that one sae near to you could feel aught but 
 joy." Dunallan, colouring, drew up the glassj 
 and they passed on, though the people looked 
 disappointed at their well-meant congratulations 
 being so ill received. When they had left this 
 party at some distance, Dunallan stopt the car- 
 riage, and gave an order to a servant, which Catha- 
 rine did not hear ; but the man galloped forward, 
 and, though they passed many cottages and farm 
 houses, there were no more congratulations. The 
 people, who stood in their doors, though in their 
 Sunday clothes, and evidently prepared to bid 
 them welcome, were satisfied with respectfully 
 taking off their hats, while the women curtsied, 
 and motioned to the children to be quiet ; or still 
 more anxious to please, some went into their 
 houses whilst the carriage passed, and then fol-
 
 1 10 DUNALLAN. 
 
 lowed it with a fervently uttered " God bless 
 him." 
 
 " And this is the man !" thought Catharine, 
 " who dismissed his father's old domestics with- 
 out reward, and who, I understood, was the most 
 severe of landlords !" She looked at him. He 
 seemed absorbed in thought, but not of an agree- 
 able nature. He looked sad. 
 
 " It distresses me to have your people checked 
 in their demonstrations of joy," said Catharine hi 
 the softest tone of voice. 
 
 He started from his reverie. " Oh it does not 
 signify ; they will have other opportunities. Their 
 feelings are not my present care, dear Catharine. 
 I thought of you, and am anxious to save you 
 from their heartfelt but noisy and perhaps rude 
 expressions of joy at an event which has only 
 caused you pain ! yet I should wish you to feel 
 an interest in the happiness of bemgs who will 
 now be so much influenced by you; for the people 
 on this estate are so devotedly attached to its pro- 
 prietors, that they will do any thing they thuik 
 pleasing to those beloved by them." 
 
 " Does this attachment go along with the 
 estate?" asked Catharine smiling. 
 
 " Certainly," replied Dunallau, and smiled 
 also.
 
 DUNALLAN. HI 
 
 They had been for some time driving slowly up 
 a steep ascent, and saw nothing on either side 
 but the darkly shaded trunks of the straight firs 
 which skirted the woods near the road. When 
 they had reached the highest part of the ascent, 
 the mist had cleared away, and a bright setting 
 sun glowed on the beautiful scenery of Arnmore, 
 which now lay before them. It seemed as if na- 
 ture had formed an immense amphitheatre of 
 mountains to shelter all that was soft and pictu- 
 resque within their bosom. The Castle stood on 
 a rocky promontory raised boldly from the lake 
 which washed its base, and now reflecting the 
 lengthened rays of the departing sun appeared 
 " a sheet of gold," with woods hanging in luxuri- 
 ance upon its steep and broken shores. The de- 
 scent into this paradise was rapid. Catharine had 
 scarcely time to recover from her surprise and 
 delight when they entered the noble avenue which 
 led to the Castle. Dunallan turned to her. " Let 
 me now welcome you, Catharine, to your new 
 abode, and again declare before Him who is pre*- 
 sent every where, that you have only to tell me 
 what you wish, and it shall be my first care to 
 endeavour to gratify you." Catharine hesitated. 
 — " My first wish is to know what you consider 
 right— to live a useful life."
 
 112 DUN ALLAN. 
 
 " Dear Catharine ! then you cannot live un- 
 happily ; with such resolutions no situation can 
 make you so." 
 
 They drove on in silence. Dunallan seemed to 
 avoid looking at Catharine, and at a loss. He 
 pulled up the glasses and let them down again 
 several times. Catharine's heart beat violently, 
 yet her feelings were rather pleasurable. Often 
 during her journey she had asked herself " Is 
 this the day I so much dreaded ?" and, even now, 
 though trembling and embarrassed, her heart 
 felt light and happy. 
 
 " My aunt," said Dunallan with a look of plea- 
 sure, as they drove up to the door. 
 
 A lady and two children stood on the steps. 
 The carriage door was open in an instant. Ca- 
 tharine trembled so violently, that Dunallan al- 
 most lifted her out. 
 
 " My aunt Mrs. Oswald, my dear Catharine." 
 
 Mrs. Oswald received and pressed Catharine 
 to her bosom with the tenderness of a mother. 
 «' God bless you, and make you a blessing, my 
 dearest niece." 
 
 She then still more joyfully embraced her ne- 
 phew, and the children clung around him. The 
 servants seemed to join in the general joy, and 
 looked delighted when, turning to them, he said 
 he hoped all were well and happy. He then of-
 
 DUNALLAN. 113 
 
 fered his arm to Catharine, and led her into an 
 apartment that overlooked the lake, saying in a 
 low voice while they advanced towards a window, 
 " You will have little more of this kind to under- 
 go, dear Catharine." He then turned to his 
 aunt, and to the children, who sprung into his 
 arms, which he now opened to receive them. 
 Catharine looked at them clinging round his 
 neck, and fondly leaning their little faces on his, 
 with an emotion that brought tears into her eyes. 
 She remembered they were the children of that 
 sister whom he was accused of having treated 
 cruelly. She felt that it was impossible, and that 
 Dunallan's character must have been traduced. 
 
 Mrs. Oswald appeared to be between forty and 
 fifty — still handsome, though dressed quite like 
 an old woman — the expression of her counten- 
 ance very cheerful, and singularly pleasing, from 
 its lively openness. She addressed Catharine 
 with such sweet and easy kindness, yet with so 
 much of the dignity of an elder woman and a pa- 
 rent, that Catharine at once felt affection and re- 
 spect for her. 
 
 Dunallan brought the children to Catharine. 
 " I regard these little girls as my children. They 
 are orphans, or more than orphans," added he in 
 a lower tone. " Do you like children, Catha- 
 rine ?"
 
 114 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " Extremely," replied she : and her manner to 
 them showed that she also knew how to win their 
 little hearts. 
 
 An hour after, the party were seated in the 
 same window; Mrs. Oswald and Catharine be- 
 coming every moment more intimate, and an ex- 
 pression of regard and admiration increasing in 
 the countenances of both, while Dunallan listen- 
 ed to their conversation in almost silent pleasure. 
 One of the little girls kept close to him, and 
 seemed never to tire of looking at him. Her 
 lovely little fair head rested on his breast, and 
 formed a beautiful contrast with the manly com- 
 plexion and dark hair of Dunallan, who truly 
 seemed to feel all a father's tenderness for her. 
 The other child had been w^on by Catharine's 
 caresses to remain with her, and sat in her lap, 
 her eyes fixed on Catharine's face as she spoke, 
 and now and then attractintr her notice bv her 
 little attempts to join in what passed. The chil- 
 dren's maid at last appeared, to summon them to 
 bed. They flew to Dunallan, to be again folded 
 to his breast. " Good night. God bless my dear 
 little girls," said he, kissing them affectionately. 
 
 " Good night, aunt Oswald, good night," and 
 approaching Catharine, "what shall I call you ?" 
 said the little thing who had been in her lap. 
 
 Catharine hesitated, and blushed.
 
 DUNALLAN. 115 
 
 " Aunt Dunallan," said Mrs. Oswald. 
 
 " Good night, aunt Dunallan, my dear aunt 
 Dunallan. But why are you my aunt ?" asked 
 the child. 
 
 " Go, go," said Dunallan quickly. 
 
 They flew away, but the eldest returned and 
 looked in Dunallan's face. " Were you angry ?" 
 " No." He whispered something in her ear ; she 
 looked at Catharine, Avho held out her hand to 
 her. The child approached and kissed the hand 
 she offered with a look as if she thought her some- 
 thing very mysterious, and then went away. 
 
 When the children retired, Catharine felt the 
 smallness of the party a restraint. She turned to 
 the window. The lake still glowed with the re- 
 flection of the sky. Dunallan rose and stood by 
 her. Mrs. Oswald drew her chair closer, and 
 kindly taking Catharine's hand in hers, " Let us 
 have no reserves, my dear Catharine," said she, 
 "no secrets. I know all about you — you probably 
 know something about me too — enough at least 
 to lead you to believe that I have nothing to do 
 in this world now, but to prepare for another, and 
 endeavour to promote the happiness of those 
 around me, as far as I may have the means of do- 
 ing so. I know with what reluctance you came to 
 us — a most natural reluctance. But try to forget 
 all these unhappy circumstances, and to look
 
 116 DUNALLAN. 
 
 upon us as relations with whom you are still un- 
 acquainted. Try to banish all prejudice against 
 us." 
 
 Catharine warmly returned the pressure of her 
 hand, with which Mrs. Oswald concluded, "I shall 
 try to forget every thing," replied she with emotion, 
 " but your reception of a person who must unin- 
 tentionally have occasioned you much pain. I too 
 wish most anxiously for perfect openness. I ac- 
 knowledge I did come to vou with reluctance ; 
 and," added she, smiling sweetly, " I believe my 
 presence was not greatly desired. I entreat you 
 will also forget all prejudices against me." 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Oswald, " we know there have 
 been attempts to sow discord, when every bene- 
 volent feeling ought to have led to the reverse." 
 
 A servant now entered, said something in an 
 under tone of voice to Dunallan, and then re- 
 tired. 
 
 " Catharine," said Dunallan, with some embar- 
 rassment in his manner, " I have now to entreat 
 you to join us in one of the singular customs I 
 prepared you to meet at Arnmore." 
 
 " Certainly," replied she, accepting the arm he 
 offered, though she began to tremble from appre- 
 liension of she knew not what. Mrs. Oswald 
 leant on Dunallan's other arm, and he led them 
 into the library, where a number of servants were
 
 DUNALLAX. 117 
 
 assembled. They stood respectfully until Dun- 
 allan placed Catharine and his aunt, one on each 
 side, and then seated himself between them. A 
 table stood before him, on which lay a large Bible, 
 and other books. He turned over the leaves of 
 one, and when he had found the hymn he sought, 
 presented it to Catharine, and then named it to 
 the others. Dunallan himself began the song of 
 praise, but he appeared embarrassed, and his 
 voice at first was scarcely audible. Mrs. Oswald, 
 however, the instant she caught the air, joined 
 her full clear notes, with which the servants soon 
 mingled theirs. Catharine could not join. She 
 now found herself present at one of those very 
 scenes which had, during Dunallan's late visit at 
 her father's, been frequently chosen by St. Clair 
 as the subject of his most pointed ridicule, and 
 which he had described in terms so completely 
 ludicrous, that Catharine had often joined in the 
 laugh he excited. It was true she had many 
 times during her evening walks at Dunallan 
 Castle stopt to listen to the hymn of the cottagers, 
 and St. Clair himself had participated in the plea- 
 sure excited by those strains of simple piety ; but 
 a gentleman, a man of education, knowing the 
 habits of the world, himself singing Psalms, act- 
 ing parson before his family, and domestics ! 
 How utterly ridiculous ! Catharine now remem-
 
 118 DUNALLAX. 
 
 bered how often Dunallan had been present when 
 such scenes had been the subject of ridicule, and 
 also how much the gravity of his looks, or his 
 defence of those who engaged in them, had in- 
 creased St. Clair's eagerness to hold them up to 
 derision. It was impossible Dunallan could have 
 forgot all this, or the part she herself had taken ; 
 and she now felt ashamed, and ventured not to 
 join, feeling that if she did, he must regard her, 
 during a service esteemed sacred by him, as a 
 mere hypocrite, — the character she had been 
 tauffht to associate with the idea of those in her 
 own class who made any such open parade, she 
 once would have called it, of religion. While 
 Catharine sat occupied with these thoughts, her 
 head bent forward over her book of Hvmns, and 
 her colour heightened by so many recollections, 
 and by the consciousness that she must be an ob- 
 ject of attention to those around her, Dunallan 
 had regained his self-command, and his fine man- 
 ly voice now bore its full share in the hymn. 
 Catharine's feelings, however, remained contra- 
 dictory and confused. The melody was sweet 
 and pleasing. Surely it must be right thus to d 
 join in worshipping God, but still her early asso- 
 ciations of ridicule returned, and she felt relieved 
 when the hymn was concluded. Dunallan then 
 began to read a portion of Scripture, in a voice
 
 DUNALLAN. 119 
 
 SO deeply serious and impressive, that Catharine's 
 whole attention was ri vetted to the subject. She 
 was in the habit of reading the Scriptures at 
 stated times, and admired and loved particular 
 passages ; but, on the whole, the Sacred Volume 
 appeared to her involved in an obscurity which 
 she thought it almost culpable to remark even to 
 herself. She had imbibed this impression in her 
 early childhood, from the veneration with which 
 her mother taught her to regard the word of God, 
 and which was ever afterwards associated with the 
 sacred idea of her departed parent. This gave 
 her an uneasy and superstitious apprehension 
 when she ventured to use her own powers of rea- 
 soning on any point she could not comprehend, 
 or reconcile to what in other cases appeared rea- 
 sonable. She had been shocked by hearing 
 others speak slightingly on a subject which was 
 connected in her feelings with all that was most 
 sacred. She never, therefore, conversed with her 
 father, or with almost any one on the subject, 
 because she seldom found any one's feelings meet 
 hers. Dunallan's voice and manner, however, 
 recalled her earlier impressions, and she listened 
 with delight, mingled with awe, to the sublime 
 passage he had chosen. When any particularly 
 obscure sentence occurred, Dunallan stopt, and 
 in the most simple and correctly pure language.
 
 120 DUN ALL AN. 
 
 gave either his own ideas on the subject, or those 
 of some approved commentator, which to him ap- 
 peared conclusive, and which Catharine on each 
 occasion felt perfectly satisfactory, and worthy of 
 the subject. She felt grieved when he closed the 
 sacred volume. All now knelt down to prayer ; 
 but here Catharine was again less pleased. Tlie 
 deep humility of Dunallan's confessions, she could 
 scarcely conceive to be sincere, and his exulting 
 thanksffivinffs for the mercies of Christianitv 
 seemed unlike the simple trueness of his usual 
 expressions. Yet as he proceeded he at times 
 spoke a language which reached her inmost soul ; 
 and when he concluded, she certainly felt her re- 
 spect for him unaccountably increased. The ser- 
 vants, with an appearance of respect for their 
 young master approaching to veneration, grate- 
 fully replied to those kind and friendly inquiries 
 with which he noticed some of them as they left 
 the apartment. 
 
 Mrs. Oswald held out her hand to Catharine : 
 " How do you like our strange ways, my dear 
 young friend ?" asked she. 
 
 Catharine warmly pressed her hand, " Part of 
 them very much," replied she. 
 
 " And what part do you dislike, my dear ?" 
 
 " Dislike is a strong word. I will not say, 
 my dear Mrs. Oswald, that I dislike any part ;
 
 DUN ALLAN. 121 
 
 but " she hesitated, and looked towards Dun- 
 
 allan. He had again opened the Bible, and stood 
 with his hand resting upon it, while he seemed to 
 listen for her reply to Mrs. Oswald's question. 
 
 " May I ask you to read this passage, Catha- 
 rine? " said he. 
 
 She immediately approached. 
 
 " I felt it too sacred," continued he, " when 
 arguing, as you have heard me do with Mr. St. 
 Clair. His levity on these subjects was so uncon- 
 querable." 
 
 Catharine read the passage to which he point- 
 ed. It was this : " And when they had sung a 
 hymn, they went out into the Mount of Olives." * 
 
 " You remember what precedes and follows 
 this, Catharine ?" added Dunallan. 
 
 I do," said Catharine, instantly solemnised. 
 Then I am sure you will agree with me in 
 thinking, that our feelings cannot be in the state 
 they ought to be, if we have any disposition to 
 ridicule an act of devotion ' sanctioned by this 
 example, or if the dread of such ridicule should 
 make us shrink from performing it." 
 
 " Assuredly, Mr. Dunallan," replied Catharine, 
 blushing even to tears at the. recollection of what 
 she now considered her own impiety. Dunallan 
 
 * Matt. xxvi. 30. 
 VOL. I. G 

 
 122 DUNALLAN. 
 
 immediately changed the subject ; but Catharine, 
 when again alone, revolved it deeply in her 
 thoughts, and felt humbled in her own opinion, 
 while she thought how justly, yet how gently, 
 Dunallan had conveyed reproof. These thoughts, 
 however, were not pleasing, and she hoped that, 
 on the morrow, she would find means to gain a 
 higher place in Dunallan's esteem.
 
 DUNALLAN. 123 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 To-morrow morning came, and, with it, Mar- 
 tin rejoiced to have an opportunity of opening 
 her heart to her young lady. 
 
 " Oh, Ma'am," began she, " every one here is 
 so kind ! Mrs. Scott told me, that Mrs. Oswald 
 said she would trust to her to find out the way to 
 make me happy and comfortable ; so Mrs. Scott 
 just told me, and begged me to say frankly, what 
 would make me so on all occasions, for that Mrs. 
 Oswald would be sadly displeased if they did not 
 find means to make my new abode pleasant to 
 me. And, Ma'am, Mrs. Scott says you put her in 
 mind of Mr. Dunallan's mother, whom she served 
 long ago ; but she did not stay in the house after 
 her death, because the last housekeeper was not 
 a person she liked to be under ; so she went to 
 Mrs. Oswald, who has been so kind to her, that 
 she says she owes more than this world's happi- 
 ness to her ; but she says, too. Ma'am, that if you 
 look as gently at her as you did at me when you 
 spoke to me, she could serve you on her knees." 
 Martin's next theme Catharine listened to with
 
 Ul DUNALLAN. 
 
 more pleasure, for it was all in praise of Dunallan, 
 " who," she said, " seemed to be quite idolized 
 by his servants." 
 
 " There is not one of them," proceeded she, 
 " who would leave him to serve any gentleman 
 in the country, Mrs. Scott says ; and yet he is 
 very strict, and suffers no servant to stay a night 
 in the house after he has broken throuijh anv 
 rule he has established; and this he desires they 
 may be positively warned of when they are hired. 
 He has turned off four men within the last six 
 months, although he afterwards was very kind to 
 them till they found other means of subsistence, 
 and took pains himself to convince them of the 
 evil of their practices. Whenever a new servant 
 enters the house, Mr. Dunallan converses with 
 him in private, and gives him books to read ; and 
 he desires Mr. Gray, the steward, to take care 
 that the men shall have time to read morning 
 and evening, if they are so disposed ; and, at any 
 rate, they must be in the house ; and they are, in 
 general, anxious to read the books given them by 
 Mr. Dunallan, as he often sends for them, and 
 inquires whether they understand, and like what 
 they have read, and takes much pains to instruct 
 them. Mrs. Oswald takes the same care of the 
 women ; and Mrs. Scott asked me. Ma'am, whe- 
 ther I had been used with such care at Dunallan
 
 DUNALLAN. 125 
 
 Castle, I said, that no body could be kinder to 
 their servants than you, Ma'am, and that you 
 always set them a good example ; and Mrs. Scott 
 said, that you indeed looked like an angel." 
 
 *' Oh, Martin," replied Catharine, " you have 
 done me more than justice ; you see there may be 
 better mistresses." 
 
 Martin began to defend her young lady. " No, 
 no, Martin," interrupted Catharine, " do not 
 trouble your head to recollect all my goodness, as 
 you call it. I hope Mrs. Oswald will teach me 
 to be really a good mistress." 
 
 "Oh, my dear young lady," exclaimed Mar- 
 tin, her heart beginning to overflow at her eyes, 
 " I always said, you only needed to know what 
 an angel was to become one yourself; for you 
 have, ever since you were a child, and spoiled by 
 every one about you, always liked that person 
 best who most freely told you what was right, 
 whether they thought it likely to please you or 
 not. Oh ! Ma'am, I remember when Mr. Dun- 
 allan was a very young gentleman, and you, 
 Ma'am, quite a child, you used sometimes to 
 come away from every body to me, so unhappy 
 and vexed ; and when I tried to amuse or comfort 
 you, you used to tell me that Edward (as you 
 called him then) had said you were passionate, 
 or proud, or unkind to Miss Elizabeth ; and then
 
 126 DUNALLAN. 
 
 you used to cry so, Ma'am, and say, ' Edward 
 thinks so, and it must be true. Do not say I 
 am good, Martin, but tell me how I can learn not 
 to be passionate nor proud.' Ah, Ma'am ! you 
 liked Mr. Dunallan better than any body then." 
 Catharifie sighed, and looked so grave that 
 Martin finished her duties without saying another 
 word. When she was gone, Catharine sat down 
 at a window, her watch in her hand, at once to 
 be prepared for the hour of morning prayer, and 
 to view the romantic scenery which lay before 
 her ; but while her eyes wandered over its varied 
 beauties, her thoughts were soon fixed on a sub- 
 ject too powerfully interesting to be long forgot 
 — her own situation, and Dunallan's singular 
 character. Her feelings for him had very much 
 changed since the preceding morning. Still, how- 
 ever, she scarcely knew what she felt. " I have 
 been completely mistaken," thought she, " in sup- 
 posing him cold and selfish. Mrs. Oswald, and 
 all around him, regard him with as much love as 
 respect. This could not be inspired, unless he 
 discovered feelings of the same nature to them. 
 The children, too" — she felt softened when she 
 recollected his caressing and fondly affectionate 
 treatment of them. " Amiable being !" thought 
 she, " how much he seems formed for domestic 
 happiness ! And in this to be compelled to give
 
 DUNALLAN. 12T 
 
 up his own inclinations, and abandon all hopes 
 of ever finding what he is so peculiarly fitted to 
 enjoy ; yet so just to me ! so feeling for my situa- 
 tion ! so delicate ! so considerate ! his every 
 look, every word, so calculated to restore me to 
 perfect tranquillity and confidence. Yesterday, 
 at this time, I supposed him all sternness and 
 pride : this morning I could wish he were less 
 gentle — less overcomingly delicate and consider- 
 rate. The contrast is painful." The recollection 
 of all she had heard against his character return- 
 ed to her thoughts. " What an inexplicable be- 
 ing !" thought she, " yet why should I wish to 
 know that all these unfavourable traits are false ? 
 I almost believe them to be so ; but I do not wish 
 to know that his manner is really no more en- 
 gaging than his heart is perfect. I do not wish 
 to know that I have been so unjust to him — so 
 unwise to myself." She thought of his singula- 
 rities — his prayers — his strict notions. " What 
 must he think of me, educated as I have been? 
 He must feel that I am incapable of entering into 
 his ideas, or of being his friend and companion. 
 He seems to feel for me as a child whom he has 
 been the unfortunate means of injuring, and 
 whom he must therefore sooth and indulge, and 
 lull me, if possible, into a forgetfulness of my 
 real situation. Oh ! that I could convince him,
 
 128 DUN ALLAN. 
 
 that proud, and thoughtless, and self-willed, and 
 spoiled by prosperity as he thinks I am, and as I 
 too often feel myself to be, that I, too, aspire 
 after perfection." A gentle tap at the door 
 startled her. She opened it. It was Mrs. Oswald 
 and the children. 
 
 " Quite ready ! that is right, my love," said 
 that kind lady. 
 
 The children threw their little arms round 
 Catharine. " Sweet loves," said she, pressing 
 them with tenderness to her bosom. 
 
 Mrs. Oswald seemed greatly pleased : " They 
 will not be orphans, I see," said she ; " but come, 
 it is time for prayers." 
 
 Dunallan was alone when they entered the li- 
 brary. He received Catharine with a look of 
 pleasure ; but he appeared grave, and immediate- 
 ly rang for the servants. 
 
 Catharine again sat by him ; and, whilst she 
 now joined her voice with his in their morning 
 hymn of adoration, she felt as if she partook in 
 the pure devotion which seemed to inspire him. 
 Again he read, and again she listened with the 
 most fixed attention. He prayed ; and the earn- 
 est desires of his soul for higher degrees of purity 
 in thought, in motive, in action, in feeling, than 
 she had ever conceived, led her to feel the dis- 
 tance at which she still remained from his ideas
 
 DUNALLAN. 129 
 
 of perfection ; while his lowly confessions of time 
 mispent, and his ardent supplications that all 
 might feel the deep importance of the short and 
 fleeting moments on which so much depended, 
 cast a gloom over her spirits. 
 
 " What a degree of perfection you require," 
 said she to him when the servants left the room. 
 " I should despair, if I thought heaven required 
 such impossible strictness of thought and motive. 
 Do you believe, Mr. Dunallan, that we are capa- 
 ble of making our hearts so perfect ?" 
 
 He looked mildly at her for a moment, then 
 said, in a serious tone, " I do not think that we 
 are capable to command a single good thought. 
 Scripture says so, and my own experience con- 
 firms the declarations of scripture to my own 
 mind. But," added he, " you seem half dis- 
 pleased with me, Catharine." 
 
 " I only do not comprehend you," replied she. 
 " My dear Mrs. Oswald, I appeal to you, has he 
 not contradicted himself? He first describes a 
 degree of perfection, which, if necessary, is quite 
 alarming to such erring creatures ; and then says, 
 to prevent all attempt even, that we are incapable 
 of thinking a good thought." 
 
 " And yet, my dear," replied Mrs. Oswald, 
 " contradictory as this may appear, it is the fact ; 
 for the scriptures say, that ' without holiness' we
 
 130 DUNALLAN. 
 
 cannot see heaven ; and also declare our inability 
 to think a good thought." 
 
 " Oh ! do not puzzle me with such contradic- 
 tions," exclaimed Catharine earnestly, " I wish 
 to know your opinions. My heart tells me I have 
 regarded these matters too slightly. I find that 
 those who attend most to them always have most 
 influence with me. Mr. Dunallan, I entreat you 
 to explain yourself." 
 
 " My dear Catharine, I had no intention to 
 trifle with so important a subject. You forget 
 that I was not describing what man may attain by 
 his own exertions ; I was imploring the assistance 
 of heaven to produce in our souls that purity 
 which true Christianity always leads us to sigh 
 after, however deficient we may be." 
 
 Catharine sighed, and looked unsatisfied. 
 
 " You are not quite convinced that I am right, 
 Catharine,'"* said Dunallan ; " but, you know, I 
 prepared you to meet strange customs and strange 
 opinions at Arnmore ; and I think you promised, 
 at least you assented to my wish, not to form 
 your opinion of us till you had examined impar- 
 tially our reasons for differing from many around 
 
 us." 
 
 " Oh, certainly I shall not,'' replied Catharine. 
 " I had forgot that I was to act as an impartial 
 judge. From what I have already seen, however.
 
 DUNALLAN. 131 
 
 I feel inclined to expect perfection, and am dis- 
 appointed when I cannot understand what I see 
 and hear." 
 
 " Perfection !" exclaimed Dunallan ; " was it 
 not an aspiration after perfection which displeased 
 you r 
 
 " Oh, that kind of perfection ; yes, because it 
 is quite different from the kind I mean, and is far 
 too sacred for common life." 
 
 " I must not discuss this subject with you now, 
 Catharine," replied Dunallan, taking her hand, 
 and then Mrs. Oswald's, and drawing each within 
 his arm, " because I have an engagement in half 
 an hour, and we must go to breakfast ; but, may 
 I ask you to examine the sentiment you have just 
 expressed, and tell me, when we meet again in 
 this place of strange customs and conversations, 
 if you think it — may I say," he looked smilingly 
 in her face, " rational ? Catharine, you must 
 not be displeased with me : You know I have al- 
 ways been plain with you." 
 
 " I am not displeased," replied Catharine. If 
 I am irrational in my sentiments, it is not from 
 intention; and I only wait to be convinced." 
 
 " Sweet girl," said Mrs. Oswald ; " biit come 
 away, or this strange man must go to his appoint- 
 ment without any breakfast." She hurried before
 
 132 DUNALLAN. 
 
 them into the breakfast-room, and seated herself 
 so as to leave Catharine to preside. 
 
 " Mrs. Oswald, this is your place," said Ca- 
 tharine, when Dunallan led her to the vacant 
 seat. 
 
 " No, indeed, my love," replied Mrs. Oswald, 
 " I never take any trouble I can possibly avoid." 
 And she looked up in Catharine's face, smiling 
 with so much archness of expression, that Catha- 
 rine seated herself immediately to escape Dun- 
 allan's looks, who stood by her till the delicate 
 point was settled. Catharine felt her face glow, 
 and her hand trembled as she proceeded to do 
 the duties of her place. 
 
 " This is always a very sociable hour at Arn- 
 more, my dear Catharine," said Mrs. Oswald, 
 " always a comfortable, old-fashioned break- 
 fast, from which no one ever thinks of being ab- 
 sent. It is my delight," continued Mrs. Oswald, 
 " to see every one assemble first at prayers, and 
 then to easy and friendly conversation at break- 
 fast, when our very hearts seem to feel as if the 
 freshness of morning had risen upon them, as 
 our sweet Mrs. Williams says." 
 
 Catharine again felt her face ijlow, on recol- 
 lecting the conversation which had passed at 
 Dunallan Castle, and what Elizabeth had heard 
 
 i
 
 DUNALLAN. 133 
 
 Dunallan say of her. " Is Mrs. Williams a near 
 neighbour?" asked she. 
 
 " Yes; but we shall not see her for a few 
 "clays," replied Mrs. Oswald. 
 
 " I long much to be acquainted with her," 
 said Catharine, looking at Dunallan, " I shall 
 then perhaps learn what perfection is." 
 
 " No," replied he, smiling, " her own account 
 of herself at least is very different." 
 
 Dunallan was obliged to hurry away immedi- 
 ately after breakfast. Mrs. Oswald then led 
 Catharine through the house, and afterwards to 
 the garden, and some of the nearest of the beau- 
 tiful walks which surrounded the castle. Catha- 
 rine greatly admired every thing she saw. In 
 the house all was propriety, the most elegant 
 simplicity and comfort. The servants seemed 
 most carefully attended to ; and in their looks and 
 manner showed the respect and affection they 
 felt for Mrs. Oswald, and their anxiety to re- 
 commend themselves to the notice of their young 
 lady. The cottagers they met during their walk 
 appeared equally pleased and respectful. Mrs. 
 Oswald addressed them kindly, and seemed ac- 
 quainted with all their concerns. " I must show 
 you our village," said she to Catharine as they were 
 slowly returning towards the house. They then 
 descended a wooded path which led towards the
 
 134 DUNALLAN. 
 
 lake ; and after many windings, they arrived at a 
 range of rocky cliffs, from which, in extensive 
 and very picturesque grounds, on the borders of 
 the lake, were seen many neat cottages, separated 
 from each other by the rocky unevenness of the 
 ground, or by trees, or small and beautifully ver- 
 dant fields, or by nicely cultivated little gardens. 
 The mixture of wood, and rocks, and cottages, 
 covered with honeysuckle and wild roses, with 
 their irregular fields and gardens, sometimes 
 surrounded with wood, sometimes inclosed by 
 rocks of the most romantic wildness, sometimes 
 encroaching on the steep sides of the hills which 
 inclosed them all, formed a scene of singular 
 beauty. Catharine contemplated all around her 
 with delight. 
 
 " That village contains upwards of four hun- 
 dred inhabitants," said Mrs. Oswald, " and their 
 improvement is Dunallan's favourite pursuit. 
 The late Mr. Dunallan, who never objected to 
 any plan proposed by his son, consented to his 
 attempting this improvement, to induce his 
 tenants to give up their little farms willingly. 
 Dunallan was quite as much aware as his Father, 
 of the disadvantages of havincc an estate divided 
 into these small farms; but he reprobated the 
 plan followed by many country gentlemen, of at 
 once throwing a number of them into one, and
 
 DUNALLAN. 135 
 
 suffering the miserable people to emigrate with 
 their families to distant countries. He prevailed 
 on his Father, therefore, to suffer the old tenants 
 to remain, but invited their sons to this village, 
 where they receive a small piece of ground, a 
 boat, and fishing materials. The young men 
 are, by these means, enabled to marry soon, and 
 in a short time become so attached to this village, 
 that at their fathers' deaths they have no desire 
 to return to their farms, which fall without trou- 
 ble into the hands of the landlord. Dunallan's 
 plans have arrived at wonderful perfection, con- 
 sidering how short his visits at home were dur- 
 ing his Father's life." 
 
 " And why, may I ask, were his visits so short, 
 my dear Mrs. Oswald ?" said Catharine. " Surely 
 such cold disregard of a father was not quite 
 consistent with Mr. Dunallan's strict principles." 
 
 " I think his conduct was quite so, my dear," 
 replied Mrs. Oswald, " I do not believe a parent's 
 shame can be witnessed by a child without les- 
 sening the respect he ought to feel." 
 
 " Shame ! What do you mean, my dear Ma- 
 dam ?" 
 
 " Is it possible, Catharine, you do not know 
 the cause for Dunallan's averseness to home ?" 
 
 " I never heard any cause assigned." 
 
 " Ah, my dear, Dunallan has had enemies
 
 136 DUNALLAN. 
 
 near you. This could not be so great a secret, 
 though my nephew has, I know, borne in silence 
 much undeserved blame. You, Catharine, ought 
 to know, however, that when Dunallan resided 
 at home, he was obliged to see in his Mother's 
 place, one of the lowest and worst of creatures, 
 by whom his Father was so infatuated and en- 
 slaved, that even his love for his son could not 
 break the bondage, or induce him, even when 
 his son was with him, to offend this woman, by 
 keeping her from appearing when there was no 
 other guest ; for this was the manner in which 
 she chose to show her hatred to Dunallan. No 
 situation could be more intolerable to a man of 
 Dunallan's principles and feelings." 
 
 " And he did as he ought in leaving it," said 
 Catharine with emphasis. " I was certain Mr. 
 Dunallan must have been innocent of the charges 
 I have heard against him," added she thought- 
 
 fully. 
 
 " Have any more such stories reached you, my 
 dear ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but I shall tell you them all, my 
 dearest Madam ; for I long to hear Mr. Dunallan 
 cleared from every aspersion. Mr. Clanmar is 
 said to have been led into an improper marriage 
 by him." 
 
 " I know he is," replied Mrs. Oswald ; " but
 
 DUNALLAN. 137 
 
 here I cannot satisfy you. Dunallan is as secret 
 as death on this subject; from which I, who 
 know him, infer, that Mr. Clanmar has been 
 guilty of something very blamable. I have seen 
 them together, and Clanmar certainly regards 
 Dunallan with more than common respect, and 
 Dunallan professes sincere affection for him ; but 
 this is all I can say on this point." 
 
 " And Mr. Dunallan's sister," said Catharine. 
 
 " His sister !" repeated Mrs. Oswald; " sure- 
 ly it is not possible to represent his conduct to 
 her as any thing but kind, tender, generous " 
 
 " Oh yes," interrupted Catharine, " it is pos- 
 sible to make it appear cruel — unfeeling " 
 
 " What a world !" exclaimed Mrs. Oswald. 
 " Let us sit down here, my dear Catharine, for 
 I can walk no farther, and I shall tell you how 
 cruel and unfeeling he was to her. Poor Maria 
 was Dunallan's sister by a former marriage, and 
 some years older than he. My sister, the mo- 
 ther of Dunallan, wished most earnestly to have 
 the charge of her, but her mother's relations ex- 
 pressed the same wish, and her expectations from 
 them being considerable, her father would not 
 suffer her to be taken from them. A few months 
 after the death of my sister, the relation with 
 whom Maria lived, died also, leaving her a large 
 fortune. Mr. Dunallan entreated me to take
 
 138 DUNALLAN. 
 
 charge of her, as there was no remaining relation 
 of her mother's with whom he chose to intrust 
 her, and his house was not a proper place for a 
 young female. I consented, but soon perceived 
 the difficulty of the task I had undertaken. Beau- 
 tiful, gentle, ingenious, and warm in her affec- 
 tions, Maria gained upon my heart, while her 
 want of steadiness, her sensibility, and neglected 
 education, in what was of any real value, kept me 
 in perpetual alarm. Never was any creature more 
 exposed to the dangers of vanity, from the extra- 
 vagant admiration of the other sex ; and, amongst 
 all her suitors, she fixed on the very one I should 
 have least wished her to choose. You have, I 
 dare say, heard of young Mr. Harcourt, and of his 
 unbounded extravagance. For three years before 
 he left this country he was indebted to Dunallan 
 for the supply of every want, though by this means 
 Dunallan's own income became so limited that 
 he was obliged to deny himself every indulgence. 
 At one time he gave up his horses, at another he 
 dismissed all his servants. Harcourt, with the 
 meanness usually attendant on extravagance, re- 
 ceived, unblushingly, all these pecuniary aids from 
 a mere boy, as Dunallan then was. At the end 
 of those three years, one cause of Harcourt's ex- 
 travagance became known, for the first time, to 
 Dunallan. He found that he was depriving him-
 
 DUNALLAN. 139 
 
 self of every indulgence to supply the expenses 
 of a mistress who had lived with Harcourt for 
 several years. This naturally roused Dunallan's 
 indignation, and after having, with difficulty, pro- 
 cured a situation for Harcourt in India, he posi- 
 tively informed him, that unless he broke off the 
 shameful connection he had formed, and immedi- 
 ately consented to sail for his new destination, he 
 would no longer regard him as a relation. Har- 
 court knew how dangerous it would be to his in- 
 terests to displease Dunallan, and promised all 
 he washed. Before he sailed, however, Dunallan 
 discovered that the woman had gone a few weeks 
 before in another ship, destined to the Presidency 
 to which he had been appointed, and where she 
 had a sister married in a low situation. On dis- 
 covering this, Dunallan came to me almost in 
 despair. Maria's health was then in a very de- 
 licate state, having been recently confined by the 
 birth of our little Mary, and the idea of parting 
 from her children, who were too young to be ta- 
 ken to India, had materially increased her illness. 
 I went to her, and proposed her remaining with 
 her children, and suffering Harcourt to proceed 
 to India without her. I found little difficulty in 
 persuading her to do this, her affections were so 
 divided between her husband and children. Har- 
 court, however, enraged at seeing all further
 
 J 10 DUN ALL AN. 
 
 hopes of receiving pecuniary advantage from 
 Dunallan at an end, first insisted on his wife ac- 
 companying him, and when he found that she, 
 shocked by the brutality of his letters, and terri- 
 fied by his violence when he gained admittance 
 to her, was so ill as really to be incapable of un- 
 dertaking such a voyage, he threatened to take 
 his children, which last project was only prevent- 
 ed by Dunallan' s promise to pay him a large an- 
 nuity as long as he left his wife and children at 
 peace in this country. Poor Maria sunk under 
 his cruel treatment. Dunallan and I accompanied 
 her from place to place — wherever change of cli- 
 mate, or change of scene, held out any hope of 
 restoring peace, or strength to her wounded 
 mind and weakened frame, but in vain ; it is now 
 nearly two years since she expired in her bro- 
 ther's arms, after frequently declaring, that he 
 had been the means of leading her to the only 
 true source of happiness, and had taught her that 
 death itself could be welcomed as the harbinger 
 of everlasting peace and joy. Her children Dun- 
 allan regards as his own. The worthless Har- 
 court still lives, and has married the wretched 
 woman who seduced his alltections from his wife.*" 
 " Unfortunate Maria !" exclaimed Catharine, 
 " how much is our sex to be pitied !" added she
 
 DUNALLAN. HI 
 
 thoughtfully, " duped by our affections, or sacri- 
 ficed to" she stopt. 
 
 " Yes ;" said Mrs. Oswald in a gentle tone of 
 voice, " but misfortune is most severe when we 
 have sought it ourselves. There is a great, an 
 unspeakable consolation, my dear Catharine, in 
 feeling, that though we suffer we have not left the 
 path of duty : then we look on misfortune, not as 
 a chastisement, but as a purifier. I hope, my 
 dear young friend, you will yet have cause to re- 
 joice in your generous devotion to your father's 
 wishes." 
 
 An approaching footstep interrupted Mrs. Os- 
 wald. It was Dunallan ; he looked at Catharine, 
 then at his aunt — " am I an intruder ?" 
 
 " Oh, no," said Catharine, " but we did not 
 hope to see you." 
 
 " We supposed you were engaged for the whole 
 morning," said Mrs. Oswald. 
 
 " On this morning ! my dear aunt, no certain- 
 ly. I hoped to have returned in time to attend 
 you, but you were fled, and I have been search- 
 ing every walk for you." 
 
 " You must not think of me, Mr. Dunallan," 
 said Catharine, " I know you have important af- 
 fairs to attend to here, which must not be neglect- 
 ed on my account." 
 
 " You know, Catharine, what I consider the
 
 142 DUNALLAN. 
 
 most important affair at present intrusted to me. 
 I am sure Mrs. Oswald will leave nothing untried 
 to render your present situation agreeable to you, 
 but I believe you must allow me, for my own 
 sake, while we are together, to join in the at- 
 tempt : however, my dear Catharine," added he 
 quickly and earnestly, " your own mind is the 
 source from whence alone I expect you to derive 
 the happiness I so ardently wish for you." 
 
 Catharine smiled, and looked certainly not 
 very unhappy. 
 
 " You recollect too well," said she, " the ac- 
 count I once gave you of my extreme inconsist- 
 ency of disposition ; but even without supposing 
 that changed, Arnmore is so new a scene to me, 
 that I shall not soon be satisfied, I perceive, in 
 exploring its wonders ; its mental novelties are, 
 however, I must confess, most interesting to me. 
 You know, Mr. Dunallan, you have to convince 
 me, that a sentiment I expressed this morning 
 was very irrational." 
 
 " Yes ; at least I wished you yourself to dis- 
 cover that it was so." 
 
 " I have not yet had time to examine it." 
 
 " I know you have not, and I almost wish to 
 decline entering on a subject so very serious, 
 when I recollect how frequently I have heard you
 
 DUNALLAN. 143 
 
 say, that you detested preaching out of the pul- 
 pit." 
 
 " I entreat you, Mr. Dunallan," said Catharine, 
 blushing deeply, " to forget such foolish speeches 
 of mine. My heart reproached me, I assure you, 
 the moment they were uttered." 
 
 '' Well then, my dear ingenuous Catharine," 
 replied Dunallan, " I shall do as you desire. 
 Your opinion is, that religion is too sacred a thing 
 to be always present to our thoughts. May I 
 ask you to explain to me why you think so ?" 
 
 " Because — I think — why, all our lives are oc- 
 cupied with such trifles, it would be almost pro- 
 fane, I think, to mix religious ideas with them." 
 
 " But what, my dear Catharine, do you include 
 in your ideas of religion ?" 
 
 " I include," replied Catharine solemnly, " be- 
 lief in that great and glorious Being, who has 
 created the universe, and, by his power and wis- 
 dom, supports it in existence ; whose attributes 
 are beyond our comprehension, but who has, in 
 mercy, sent his Son to reveal his will to us, and 
 to set us an example of the most perfect, the sub- 
 limest virtue." 
 
 " Well, my dearest Catharine, so far our ideas 
 are the same. You regard that revelation of the 
 will of God then, as a rule to which we ought im- 
 plicitly to submit ?"
 
 lU DUNALLAN. 
 
 « Certainly I do." 
 
 " But that revelation, clear Catharine, talks fre^ 
 quently of ' acknowledging God in all our ways,' 
 of ' walking with God,' of ' trusting in him 
 continually,' of ' desiring to please him in all 
 things.' " 
 
 " I confess I do not understand such expres- 
 sions, Mr. Dunallan ; at least, the only meaning I 
 can attach to them does not satisfy me." 
 
 " But do they not support the opinion, that re- 
 ligion may, and ought to be, our constant guide 
 in every thing ?" 
 
 " They certainly do." 
 
 " Can you recollect any thing in revelation, 
 Catharine, which forbids or condemns innocent 
 pleasures ?" 
 
 " No, nothing." 
 
 " Or any precept which it would not increase 
 our real happiness to obey ?" 
 
 " No, not one." 
 
 " Then why do you think its rules are too sa- 
 cred to be always present, even in our most cheer- 
 ful thoughts ?" 
 
 " I shall perhaps be convicted of being irra- 
 tional, I see,'' replied Catharine, smiling, " yet my 
 feelings still say, that religion would not be at all 
 suitably mixed with our usual occupations, or 
 even opinions."
 
 DUNALLAN. U5 
 
 " Most true, my dearest Catharine, your feel- 
 ings say perfectly right ; but ought not our occu- 
 pations and opinions to be made suitable to reli- 
 gion ? are we rational in professing ourselves 
 Christians, while our usual, common opinions and 
 occupations are such as to necessarily banish the 
 ideas which Christianity inspires ?'' 
 
 '* No, I must allow we are not. But I fear you 
 must entirely new-model the world, Mr. Dun- 
 allan, before you will be able to prevail on it to 
 be always influenced by such pure and sacred 
 principles." 
 
 '' Ah ! Catharine, that is the way we all at- 
 tempt to escape from disagreeable truths : but 
 each individual of that world has the charge of 
 one heart, and one life only." 
 
 " But that one heart may itself require to be 
 changed perhaps," said Catharine. 
 
 " Not perhaps, dear Catharine, most certainly 
 every heart does. Oh, that I could convince 
 you," added he with great earnestness and emo- 
 tion, " that you will never know what real happi- 
 ness is until that one heart is so changed as to 
 willingly, anxiously, desire and endeavour to sub- 
 mit its opinions, its wishes, its choice of occupa- 
 tions, its very feeling, to be influenced and guided 
 by revelation." 
 
 " I wish it was," replied Catharine seriously, 
 
 VOL. I. • H
 
 116 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " but, indeed, I do not expect it ever will. It is 
 not in my nature, I fear, to be a saint," added 
 she more gaily, " I must rest satisfied with a more 
 common degree of goodness." 
 
 Dunallan seemed disappointed, and remained 
 silent. 
 
 " Do not look so grave, Mr. Dunallan," said 
 Catharine, " I shall try to do whatever you wish 
 
 me." 
 
 a 
 
 Even to become a saint?" asked he, smiling, 
 but rather sadly. 
 
 " Yes ; even to become a saint, if that is in- 
 dispensible," replied she, accepting the arm he 
 offered, and following Mrs. Oswald, who had ri- 
 sen, and was proceeding on her walk. Mrs. Os- 
 wald, however, acknowledged she was fatigued, 
 and Catharine insisted on deferring her visit to 
 the village until next day. 
 
 Dunallan studiously avoided the subject of re- 
 ligion during the remainder of the day, though 
 Catharine made many attempts to introduce it. 
 She felt that he had reason to be dissatisfied with 
 the levity of her reply to the earnest kindness of 
 his wishes for her, and she sought for an oppor- 
 tunity to obtain his forgiveness ; but she sought 
 in vain. Dunallan found means to change the 
 subject the moment she introduced it, and con- 
 versed so agreeably about other things, that for a
 
 DUNALLAN. 147 
 
 time she forgot her wish ; but some new proof of 
 kindness or consideration on his part soon again 
 brought her fault to her recollection with increas- 
 ed regret. 
 
 " Mr. Dunallan," said she at last, when the 
 evening was far spent, " you will not give me an 
 opportunity to ask your forgiveness for my un- 
 pardonably foolish reply to the interest you ex- 
 pressed in my improvement this morning. I think 
 you would forgive me if you knew how much pain 
 the remembrance of it still gives me.*" 
 
 " I do, from my heart, forgive you, my dear 
 Catharine, though, I confess, you disappointed 
 me. Will you, in your turn, forgive me, if I 
 speak very plainly, very seriously, to you now ?*" 
 " Indeed, I will. I wish you, Mr. Dunallan, 
 always to speak so to me.'** 
 
 " Then, my dearest Catharine, I think I ought 
 to remind you, that even a slight degree of levity 
 on such subjects requires forgiveness from a 
 higher source. You may pain your friend, but 
 the right to be displeased is not mine. Am I too 
 solemn, Catharine ?" 
 
 " You are, indeed, very solemn, Mr. Dunallan,'"* 
 replied Catharine, tears starting in her eyes. 
 
 " But am I improperly so ?" asked he, with an 
 expression of concern in his countenance. 
 " I cannot tell, perhaps not,"
 
 lis DUNALLAN. 
 
 " Will you examine ?'' 
 
 " I certainly will." 
 
 " And can you forgive my plainness ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and whatever I may feel, I still wish you 
 to be perfectly so with me." 
 
 When Catharine was again alone, she reflect- 
 ed on this conversation, almost wishing to find 
 that Dunallan had been too severe; but the more 
 seriously and candidly she examined the subject, 
 she felt the more convinced that he was right, 
 and that her own mind and feelings were far too 
 slightly alive to the deep importance of religion, 
 and all that was connected with it. Her esteem 
 for Dunallan increased. She felt also that he 
 was deeply interested in her, as every word and 
 look expressed it. The conviction of this was 
 now delightful to her, and animated her with the 
 most earnest desire to understand his character 
 and opinions. She felt certain they were right, 
 and determined to attempt at least to compre- 
 hend them. Her imagination easily passed over 
 every difficulty, and pictured the time when she 
 and Dunallan should be united in opinions, in 
 wishes, in pursuits, perhaps in affections. The 
 wakiuiT dream was delijjhtful — too delicjhtful to 
 be forsaken, till sleep at last mingled with it its 
 still more unlikely visions.
 
 DUNALLAN. 149 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Next morning Catharine obeyed the summons 
 to prayers, with her determination of the even- 
 ing before as strong as ever. Full of her 
 new plans to study Dunallan's opinions, and 
 frankly to avow her wish to know and be guided 
 by them, she entered the library with her cheek 
 glowing, and her whole manner and appearance 
 unusually animated. Dunallan was alone, and 
 rose to meet her. 
 
 " I need scarcely inquire for your health, 
 Catharine," said he smiling, and regarding her 
 with looks of evident admiration. 
 
 " Inquire for my mind's health," replied she, 
 smiling playfully. 
 
 " Those looks, Catharine, bespeak a tranquil 
 mind also." 
 
 " Well, perhaps they may, for I have just form- 
 ed a resolution which I hope will in future secure 
 my peace of mind." 
 
 " May I ask what that resolution is?" 
 
 " Yes, for I cannot put it into execution with- 
 out your consent."
 
 150 DUN ALLAN. 
 
 " My consent, dear Catharine ! You have it 
 then, whatever your resolution is." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Dunallan, you do not know what 
 you have promised. Nothing less than to assist 
 and guide me in regulating this mind which I 
 know you think is in a sad state. Do you re- 
 tract?" 
 
 " No, dearest Catharine, I thank you for the 
 permission a thousand times. Shall I tell you 
 that I was almost afraid to see you this morning? 
 I dreaded so much that my solemnity last night 
 had disgusted you." 
 
 " No," replied Catharine, " on reflection I was 
 convinced you were right. But, tell me, how 
 shall I begin the attempt to feel more, and think 
 more, as I ought to do on religious subjects ?" 
 
 The entrance of Mrs. Oswald and the chil- 
 dren prevented Dunallan's reply. Catharine felt 
 disappointed, as the servants immediately fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 " We shall not be interrupted," said Dunal- 
 lan, as he led her to the seat next himself, " your 
 inquiry can be answered from Scripture;" and 
 he immediately began to read some verses of a 
 Psalm, in which her question was asked and an- 
 swered. 
 
 Catharine was affected; and her voice, as she 
 sung, betrayed her emotion. Her mingled feel-
 
 DUNALLAN. 151 
 
 ings were almost oppressive, until Dunallan's 
 prayer gave them language and utterance. She 
 fervently joined in his humble but joyful thanks- 
 givings, for her heart overflowed with gratitude : 
 and when he supplicated with the deepest ear- 
 nestness that light might be imparted to the still 
 young and ignorant — that their hearts might be 
 attracted and devoted to their Creator while in 
 the first glow of their early affections — that the 
 great Shepherd of the sheep would gather his 
 lambs into his fold, and preserve them there safe 
 from the allurements and pollutions of the world 
 — the ardent desires of her soul followed his 
 every request, and she felt a delight in these as- 
 pirations of devotion, greater than she had ever 
 experienced from any earthly enjoyment. 
 
 " You did indeed answer my question," said 
 she afterwards to Dunallan, " and I understood 
 you my true friend.'** 
 
 On this morning Dunallan had no engage- 
 ment, and offered to attend Catharine to his 
 village. Mrs. Oswald begged she might be ex- 
 cused from going. 
 
 " I really am too old to be able to walk every 
 where with you, my two young friends," said she, 
 " and to-day I must visit my school ; but if you 
 will call on me there, I shall return home with 
 you,"
 
 152 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " You seem unwilling to trust yourself with 
 me, Catharine," said Dunallan rather reproach- 
 fully, as she hesitated about leaving Mrs. Os- 
 wald. 
 
 " I am not indeed," replied she blushing, and 
 immediately rose to accompany him. 
 
 The day was charming. Dunallan proposed 
 walking to the village by a different way from 
 that Catharine had gone the day before. This 
 was longer, but still more romantic and beauti- 
 ful, and in several places opened on the most ex- 
 tensive and magnificent views of the lake and 
 surrounding scenery. 
 
 In Dunallan Catharine at last found one who 
 felt the charms of nature with raptures even great- 
 er than her own, and who expressed his admira- 
 tion in a language to which her every feeling re- 
 plied. She stopt at each step to admire some 
 new beauty. Dunallan appeared delighted with 
 her enthusiasm, and continued to lead her from 
 one picturesque scene to another, that he might 
 point out those views which he himself most ad- 
 mired. Their tastes were the same ; and Catha- 
 rine warmly assented to Dunallan's remark, that 
 the scenery round Arnmore was exactly the kind 
 which most powerfully excited those feelings of 
 admiration, " which are so delightful," added he, 
 " so purely so, when they elevate the thoughts
 
 DUNALLAN. 153 
 
 and affections to the source of all beauty and 
 greatness." 
 
 " But we are far beyond the village," said 
 Dunallan at last, after they had long wandered 
 on, regardless of time or distance. " Thus we 
 pursue pleasure," added he, " to the neglect of 
 every thing else." 
 
 " But this surely is innocent pleasure," said 
 Catharine. 
 
 " Most innocent, and you can visit my poor vil- 
 lage at any time." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! I long very much to see your 
 village. I shall probably there also forget how 
 time flies." 
 
 " Ah ! Catharine, I wish I knew how to make 
 the time alw^ays appear so short to you." 
 
 " I think I never found it pass away so rapid- 
 ly as at this Arnmore, which I expected would be 
 so very different," said Catharine gaily. " But I 
 fear Mrs. Oswald must now be waiting for us at 
 her school. We must bid adieu to these charm- 
 ing scenes." 
 
 " You expected Arnmore was to be sadly dull 
 and tiresome," said Dunallan, as he conducted 
 Catharine by a short path through the woods to 
 Mrs. Oswald's school. 
 
 " Indeed I scarcely knew what to expect, Mr. 
 Dunallan. But all that is past. You have pro-
 
 J54 DUNALLAN. 
 
 mised to assist me in forming myself into a fit in- 
 mate for this strangely interesting place. How 
 shall I begin ? I long to make the attempt — but 
 here is Mrs. Oswald come to meet us. Oh ! that 
 is too bad." 
 
 " Indeed I might as well have accompanied 
 you," said Mrs. Oswald. " Here have I been 
 wandering in every direction in search of you, 
 after having staid at my school an hour longer 
 than usual ; and nobody at the idllage, or any 
 where else, had met you. Where can you have 
 concealed yourselves ?" 
 
 Catharine attempted to apologise for her inat- 
 tention ; but Mrs. Oswald interrupted her. 
 
 *' No apologies, my dear. I shall always ex- 
 cuse you forgetting me, if Edward is the cause." 
 Mrs. Oswald added aside to Catharine, who had 
 turned away blushing, " and now, my dear, I 
 have punished you more than I wished ;" and she 
 then said aloud, " I am sure from both your 
 looks, time has passed away agreeably wherever 
 you have been." 
 
 " Most agreeably, I allow on my part," said 
 Dunallan, with an expression of mild but heart- 
 felt pleasure. 
 
 " I hope — indeed I can feel pretty certain," 
 rejoined Mrs. Oswald, " that, if heaven spares us 
 all, we shall not soon tire of each other."
 
 DUNALLAN. 153 
 
 " If one of our party continues to be pleased 
 with us," replied Dunallan, " I think " 
 
 cc 
 
 That depends on you, Mr. Dunallan," inter- 
 rupted Catharine, smiling. " You have under- 
 taken to make me a rational and religious being, 
 capable and worthy to become an inmate of your 
 Arnmore. But who comes here? Do you ex- 
 pect visitors, Mr. Dunallan?'' 
 
 " No, certainly," replied he, following her looks 
 to a path in the road by which three gentlemen 
 were approaching. 
 
 " Walderford V exclaimed he in a voice of joy, 
 and was hastening to meet his friend, but turned 
 again — " Dear Catharine, I fear you may dislike 
 this early call to oblige me by receiving my 
 friends." 
 
 " No, Mr. Dunallan, I shall meet your friends 
 with the hope that they may become mine." 
 
 " A thousand thanks, my dearest Catharine," 
 replied he with the most warmly grateful manner. 
 He then flew to meet his friends. The meeting 
 seemed most joyful on both sides. 
 
 " Ah I" exclaimed Mrs. Oswald, " there is 
 friendship ! friendship secured by the only cer- 
 tain everlasting bond. You perhaps know, Ca- 
 tharine, that Dunallan is called in the world 
 ' One of the saints.' This Walderford is another ; 
 and has become so notwithstanding the ridicule
 
 156 DUN ALLAN. 
 
 and contemptuous treatment of a very clever but 
 harsh father, and a host of worldly and dissipated 
 relations. He is greatly beloved by Dunallan, 
 who considers him as superior in talents as he is 
 in worth.'' 
 
 Mrs. Oswald and Catharine walked slowly on, 
 Dunallan and his friend soon seemed to be en- 
 gaged in a conversation of the deepest interest to 
 both. The other two gentlemen stopt at every 
 step, apparently in admiration of the scenery 
 which surrounded them. On their approaching 
 nearer, Catharine perceived that the looks of all 
 the party were directed towards her. This re- 
 called her thoughts to her own situation, and the 
 blush which glowed on her cheek, and softened 
 her downcast eyes, when Dunallan introduced 
 his friends, were perfectly suited to the occasion, 
 had she been united to him from the truest mu- 
 tual affection. 
 
 Dunallan introduced the other gentlemen, Mr. 
 Gower and Mr. Stanly ; the former a little man, 
 apparently between forty and fifty, with a counte- 
 nance full of life and fire ; the latter about the 
 same age, but a large, mild, pleasing looking 
 man, with little of any other character in his 
 countenance. Mr. Walderford, however, excit- 
 ed Catharine's interest most, though his manner 
 rather disappointed her. When introduced, he
 
 DUNALLAN. 157 
 
 fixed his eyes on her for a moment with an ex- 
 pression of not very flattering scrutiny ; said a 
 few hurried words of apology for intrusion ; then 
 turning to Mrs. Oswald, renewed his acquaint- 
 ance with her in a manner equally rapid and un- 
 ceremonious. 
 
 Dunallan offered his arm to Catharine. Mr. 
 Gower walked by her, and renewed his apolo- 
 gies for having visited his friend at a time when 
 he must be considered an intruder. " Our rea- 
 son," continued he, " was our despair of seeing 
 Mr. Dunallan at all before he went abroad, un- 
 less we had that pleasure now ; for business will 
 prevent our being in London, I fear, before he 
 departs thence, as it is much wished he should find 
 it agreeable to set out on his important mission 
 immediately. I hope," continued Gower, " that 
 you, Mrs. Dunallan, do not dread those northern 
 climates ?" 
 
 Catharine hesitated. " I dread no climate," 
 replied she at last, scarcely knowing what she 
 said. 
 
 " I am not so selfish as to wish Catharine to 
 share the fatigues of such a journey with me," 
 said Dunallan. " I have not even proposed it to 
 her." 
 
 Mr. Gower looked at Catharine, and seemed 
 to perceive that there was something he did not
 
 16Q DUN ALLAN. 
 
 understand in Dunallan's reply, and her looks. 
 Walderford began to speak on another subject, 
 whicl^ proved to her that he knew exactly how 
 matters stood. She walked on in silence. The 
 happy feelings, and gay hopes for the future, 
 which she had so lately experienced, had fled in 
 a moment, and the idea of Dunallan's immediate 
 departure, she knew not whither, filled her with 
 the most uneasy apprehensions. She looked at 
 him, to read, if possible, some ray of light or 
 comfort in his countenance, but was struck with 
 its expression of dejection and disappointment. 
 
 Mrs. Oswald and Walderford began imme- 
 diately to converse together with much apparent 
 interest, but both in a tone of voice so low, that 
 Catharine only heard that Dunallan's plans form- 
 ed the subject of their conversation. Dunallan 
 himself continued silent, and seemed lost in deep 
 and painful thought. 
 
 When they reached the house, Catharine would 
 have withdrawn her arm, but Dunallan caught 
 her hand : " Will you give me your company 
 for a few minutes longer, Catharine ?' 
 
 '' Certainly ; but your friends " 
 
 " Mrs. Oswald will take charge of them," re- 
 plied he, again placmg her hand within his arm, 
 and leading her towards the library.
 
 DUNALLAN. 159 
 
 " Catharine,*' said he on reaching it, " I have 
 delayed this conversation too long. I did not so 
 soon expect I should be obliged to perform a 
 promise I once made to some of my friends. I 
 hoped that before I should be called on to go 
 abroad, I either should have been— that we should 
 have been in other circumstances, or that you 
 could have felt — I wished to have tried at least — 
 I hoped — I need not say what." He hesitated— 
 then proceeded, " You now know, my dear Ca- 
 tharine, that I am called on to go abroad, in con- 
 sequence of my own promise. Should you, how- 
 ever, disapprove of any plan I have formed, I 
 conceive it my first duty at present to consult 
 your wishes, if possible." 
 
 " Oh no, Mr. Dunallan, I cannot wish you to 
 change any plan on my account. May I ask how 
 long you will be absent ?" 
 
 " That, dear Catharine, I cannot exactly tell. 
 I undertook some time ago a mission to Peters- 
 burg, ostensibly to convey instructions of an im- 
 portant nature to our ambassador there ; but the 
 truth is, my mission regards a private negociation, 
 which relates more to the cause of religion, than 
 to the politics of the day ; and which, though 
 countenanced, and indeed favoured by govern- 
 ment, did not originate there. When I first 
 thought of undertaking this mission, I did not
 
 160 DUNALLAN. 
 
 expect that any new tie I should form could bind 
 me to home. I acknowledge I had yielded too 
 much to prejudice ; but I must not speak on this 
 subject. My first motive really was a desire to 
 benefit my fellow-creatures. If with this I mixed 
 others less pure, I deserve to feel as I now 
 do, for having agreed to leave a home, which, 
 when I am about to banish myself from it, seems 
 almost a paradise." 
 
 Catharine remained silent, a multitude of con- 
 fused ideas followed what Dunallan had said; 
 but his regret at leaving home was that most dis- 
 tinctly present. " And why," thought she, " not 
 take as much as possible of home with him?" 
 Yet she had not courage to propose herself ac- 
 companying him, though at that moment she 
 could have done so, had not a certain doubtful- 
 ness as to whether he included her in his sources 
 of happiness deterred her. 
 
 " Mrs. Oswald, I am sure, would willingly 
 make a home for you in any part of the world, 
 Mr. Dunallan, and your dear children — the cli- 
 mate is good." 
 
 " Mrs. Oswald and the children !" interrupted 
 Dunallan, who had eagerly watched Catharine's 
 countenance, as she continued buried in thought ; 
 he looked reproachfully at her for a moment, 
 then turned away, she thought proudly, and walk-
 
 DUNALLAN. 161 
 
 ed to a window, where he remained turned from 
 her for a few moments. He, however, soon re- 
 covered himself, and resumed his place near her. 
 
 " I cannot wish Mrs. Oswald to undertake such 
 a journey," said he in his usual gentle tone of 
 voice, " and the children must not leave this 
 country. But now, Catharine, may I ask what 
 would be your wishes ?" 
 
 Catharine had felt hurt by his manner of re- 
 plying to the proposal of Mrs. Oswald's accom- 
 panying him. " I never understand him," thought 
 she, dreading to make any answ^er. Dunallan, 
 however, waited till she should. 
 
 " If," said she at last, " Mrs. Oswald would 
 remain here, and allow me to continue with her 
 and the sweet children, I should prefer that to 
 any other situation." 
 
 " Mrs. Oswald is your guest, Catharine ; and 
 I am sure will remain with you as long as you 
 wish it." 
 
 " And does this plan please you, Mr. Dunallan?" 
 asked Catharine, timidly. 
 
 " Yes," replied he, languidly. 
 
 " Not quite, I think. Tell me any other. I 
 only wish to please you." 
 
 " And this pleases me most, dear Catharine, 
 since" — he stopt. 
 
 « Since what ?"
 
 162 DUNALLAN. 
 
 
 Nothing." 
 
 Are you now keeping your promise to be 
 quite plain with me, Mr. Dunallan ?" asked Ca- 
 tharine, rather reproachfully. 
 
 " Yes, dearest Catharine, I have been too 
 plain ; but I see too well how it is. I must leave 
 you, and in that event, your wishes are exactly 
 mine ; and may the God of heaven be your guide, 
 support, and happiness.'' He then hastened from 
 her, and Catharine, surprised and moved, retired 
 to her own apartment to think on what had pass- 
 ed. She had never before seen Dunallan so much 
 agitated ; and she found it was infectious. " What 
 can he mean," said she to herself, " is it possible 
 that parting from an aunt and two children, can 
 move such a man as Dunallan?" She dared 
 scarcely admit the idea that separation from her- 
 self could have caused emotions so painful. In- 
 deed she could not believe it, for she had been 
 accustomed to the devoted attentions of others, 
 and gentle, considerate, and ever attentive as he 
 was, Dunallan had never till the last half hour 
 betrayed one emotion that she could have con- 
 strued into what she considered that kind of re- 
 gard. Yet why such emotion? Why, if he 
 wished it indeed, did he not ask her to accompany 
 him ? Surely he could not expect her to offer — 
 uninvited. Impossible. In vain she attempted
 
 DUNALLAN. 163 
 
 to account for his extreme affitation. She could 
 not, however, altogether banish the idea that she 
 herself was the cause. At one moment her gra- 
 titude to him, and her increasing admiration for 
 his character, joined to this softening thought, 
 led her to long for an opportunity of proving to 
 him how much she valued that character, and 
 that regard ; but the next, she shrunk from the 
 idea of any explanation that might lead to her 
 leaving her country, her father, Elizabeth, every 
 person, every thing, she had ever known or loved, 
 to accompany alone that being whom she had, 
 till within the last few days, regarded with dread 
 and aversion. Again the idea of Dunallan's 
 kindness would return — his gentleness, the enthu- 
 siastic affection he inspired in those around him, 
 his solitary feelings amongst strangers in a strange 
 land. It was from reflections of the last kind that 
 she was again called to meet Dunallan. His 
 manner, however, soon chased them away. All 
 appearance of unusual tenderness and emotion 
 was gone. He was even less gentle than usual. 
 He seemed again that Dunallan whom she had so 
 long regarded with dread. His manner, how- 
 ever, soon became as gentle as usual, and his 
 countenance, though still thoughtful, resumed 
 those mild and feeling expressions which had 
 been gaining on Catharine's affections every mo-
 
 164. DUNALLAN. 
 
 merit since she had left her father's roof; and 
 when he entered into conversation with his friends, 
 she soon forgot all that was past or future while 
 listening to him. The subjects of conversation 
 were not new to her, but many of the opinions 
 expressed by Dunallan and his friends were en- 
 tirely so. They all seemed anxious to engage her 
 to join in what passed, and soon succeeded. She 
 began with great animation to defend those opi- 
 nions she had been accustomed to consider just, 
 but which she now heard regarded as erroneous. 
 Her looks and manner had more effect, perhaps, 
 than her arguments, but Mr. Gower in vain at- 
 tempted to follow her half playful, half serious, 
 sometimes fanciful, but always ingenious and live- 
 ly defence of her own sentiments. He was lost in 
 the maze, though quite unconvinced ; and she 
 turned from him to Mr. Walderford, declaring 
 she had converted one opponent, and gaily de- 
 manding whether he too did not find her argu- 
 ments quite unanswerable? 
 
 He smiled, and asked " on what subject ?'* 
 " On every subject we have conversed upon," 
 replied she, " but particularly respecting candour, 
 and charitable opinions of others." 
 
 " You say, I believe. Madam," replied he, " that 
 charity consists in — may I ask you to repeat
 
 DUNALLAN. 165 
 
 what? I may perhaps do injustice to your defi- 
 nition." 
 
 " Wliy I think it consists in — in — . I do not 
 remember that I said what it consisted in. I 
 only said I thought it very uncharitable to sup- 
 pose people devoid of religious principle when 
 we were ignorant of their opinions on the subject 
 — a subject which is with many, and I think 
 ought to be with all, confined to their own 
 hearts." 
 
 " How is that possible, Madam ?" asked Wal- 
 derford, fixing his mild but inquiring eyes on Ca- 
 tharine. 
 
 "Why not?" replied she. «I think" 
 
 She hesitated, Walderford looked so serious, 
 though very mild. 
 
 " Do we not imply, when we talk of a prin- 
 ciple," continued he in a gentle tone of voice, 
 " something which is the source or motive of ac- 
 tion ; and is it possible that our actions or opinions 
 will not betray it, if any strong principle has pos- 
 session of our minds and hearts? We have a 
 simple but infallible rule to judge by in this case," 
 added he, smiling, " when we see a bush produce 
 nothing but thorns, we are not uncharitable in 
 concluding that it cannot be a vine." 
 
 " But the person of whom we spoke is one 
 of the most inoffensive of human beings," said
 
 166 DUNALLAN. 
 
 Catharine ; " your simile of thorns applies very 
 ill to him." 
 
 '' I confess it does ; but still, let me ask, what 
 good to himself, or to any living creature, has his 
 life produced? He is good-tempered, I allow, 
 and, to his fox-hunting friends, very agreeable 
 perhaps ; but what account, were he called on for 
 it, could he give of what he has done with his im- 
 mense fortune, and naturally not deficient under- 
 standing ?" 
 
 " What account could any of us give ?" re- 
 plied Catharine," but that we have put our for- 
 tunes to no bad use that we are conscious of." 
 
 " Ah Catharine," said Dunallan, " you have 
 no chance of success in the argument, if you 
 bring forward such a plea as that." 
 
 " Will you assist me ?" asked she, smiling 
 sweetly. 
 
 " I fear I cannot : I should be found to join 
 your opponent." 
 
 " Ah, then, I shall take refuge in flight,'** said 
 she, if Mrs. Oswald will come with me." 
 
 Mrs. Oswald rose immediately, and though 
 Dunallan's looks seemed to entreat their stay, re- 
 tired with her young friend. 
 
 " And now, my dear Madam," said Catharine 
 when they had reached the drawing-room, " tell 
 me what Mr. Dunallan finds so amiable in this
 
 DUNALLAN. 167 
 
 Mr. Walderford ? for I think I never saw any 
 young man with such grave and severe manners." 
 
 " Are they more so than you found Dunallan's 
 at first, my dear ?" 
 
 " Why perhaps not ; but what is this ?" ex- 
 claimed she, observing a harp placed at the other 
 end of the room, " my harp ! impossible ! it could 
 not have reached me. No it is not mine." 
 
 ^' It is one Edward ordered for you, my dear ; 
 it ought to have been here sooner." 
 
 Catharine touched the strings, and sighed 
 deeply. 
 
 " Why that sigh, Catharine ?' 
 
 " Because this attention of Mr. Dunallan's re- 
 minds me of its cause," replied she ; " he wishes 
 kindly that I may be amused in his absence ; but 
 this will assist me to express the only feelings I 
 shall experience," added she, beginning to play a 
 melancholy air, while the tears stood in her 
 eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Oswald smiled and said, " I cannot wish 
 you to feel otherwise, dear Catharine." 
 
 Catharine blushed and left the harp, saying, 
 " Mr. Dunallan seemed to think the argument I 
 used before we left the dining-room a very bad 
 one, my dear Mrs. Oswald ; pray what does he 
 think we ought to do with our fortunes — give 
 them all to the poor ?"
 
 16S DUNALLAN. 
 
 " No my love, he does not do that himself; 
 and many people who are otherwise very worth- 
 less have so much humanity of disposition, that 
 they cannot witness suffering without relieving it 
 if it is in their power. What Edward considers 
 right is this — that each individual should attempt 
 to form an idea of what good it is within his power 
 to do in the situation in which he is placed, with 
 the fortune, or influence, or mental powers, or 
 advantages of any kind, with which heaven has 
 intrusted him ; to form his plan of life after this 
 examination, and to improve and pursue it stea- 
 dily if possible, while he remains in this world : 
 and this he thinks the duty of every rational 
 being, for all have something in their power." 
 " All !" repeated Catharine. 
 " Yes, my love, all. There is scarcely any one 
 perhaps with fewer means of being useful than 
 myself; yet, I hope, I am not entirely a cumberer 
 of the ground. There are some who are more 
 ignorant than I am of the one thing wliich is of 
 equal importance to us all ; I can instruct them. 
 There are others in affliction ; to them I can point 
 out the means by which I obtained consolation. 
 God has given me those two sweet children, and 
 while they are intrusted to me, I still have a mo- 
 tive for wishing to live : and should he deprive 
 me of every other means of attempting to prove
 
 DUNALLAN. 169 
 
 my love to him, may I," added she, raising her 
 eyes to heaven, with an expression of deep and 
 pious emotion, " may I be enabled to declare that 
 his support to my soul is sufficient, and thus re- 
 commend his service with my last breath." 
 
 " You have another means of being useful in 
 your power which you have not named, my dear 
 Mrs. Oswald,"" said Catharine, softening into 
 tears, " be a guide to me. Mr. Dunallan under- 
 took the task, but he has too many concerns of 
 greater moment — he will soon forget such a pro- 
 mise — yet every word you say convinces me more 
 and more how little I know what is truly right — 
 how much I require a guide in every thing." 
 
 " Ah ! my love, you must not trust to earthly 
 guides," replied Mrs. Oswald, " you must seek a 
 guide far superior to Dunallan. As for me, my 
 dearest Catharine, my friendship, my advice, my 
 opinions on every subject, my earnest prayers are 
 yours whenever you desire them ; and my warm 
 affection you already possess. But, my love, you 
 utterly mistake Dunallan's character, if you sup- 
 pose any affairs in which he may be engaged, 
 however important, will lead him to neglect those 
 nearly connected with him, and most particularly 
 yourself, now his nearest of all relations. Write 
 to him, my dear Catharine, since you must separ- 
 ate. Get acquainted with him in this way. You 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 DUNALLAN. 
 
 will find him study with attention, and reply 
 in a mariner that will perhaps surprise you, to 
 the very least important parts of your letters ; 
 and also endeavour to make his agreeable to 
 you, however deeply he may be engaged in the 
 most important affairs. The happiness, the ulti- 
 mate happiness of the human race is the vast ob- 
 ject of his desires. In this he is a citizen of the 
 world ; every immortal being is of equal import- 
 ance in his opinion, and equally worthy of his li- 
 mited efforts to promote his best interests ; but 
 the feelinffs of a being who would sacrifice almost 
 every thing to preserve the happiness of the 
 meanest of his immortal fellow men, — the feelings 
 of such a heart to those known and loved bv him, 
 are of a nature inexpressibly tender. Again, my 
 love, let me advise you to correspond frequently 
 with Edward. I know he will wish it, and I am 
 sure the consequence will be, your feeling for 
 him that affection which will make his return 
 the first wish of your heart." 
 
 " And why should I wish to feel such an affec- 
 tion for him ?" asked Catharine sadlv. 
 
 " I shall tell you why, from experience, my 
 love; because feeling a tender affection for an 
 estimable object is the sweetest, the happiest of 
 all earthly feelings. Ah, Catluirine ! how supe- 
 rior is that affection excited by great and good
 
 DUNALLAN. 171 
 
 qualities, to that into which we are won, we know 
 not how, by pleasing manners, or an agreeable 
 exterior, while we are ignorant of the real char- 
 acter. How happy, how easy is that wife, who 
 knows that on every subject her husband's prin- 
 ciples are as strictly pure as her own, compared 
 to her who loves a being whose past life she must 
 avoid inquiring about; whose principles are 
 guided by fashion, and whose affection and fide- 
 lity to her has no other security than her powers 
 of pleasing, or the absence of temptation ? And 
 oh ! how different must their feelings be," added 
 Mrs. Oswald, with deep emotion, " when the 
 hour, perhaps the unexpected hour arrives of 
 their last separation ! To part from him whose 
 peace has long been made with heaven, whom we 
 have regarded with veneration, while we witness- 
 ed his increasing nearness to perfection ; whose 
 ' path' we have seen ' shine more and more unto 
 the perfect day.' To part with such a one, even 
 with the firmest conviction that he has entered 
 into that perfect day, is severe, oh how severe ! 
 but to see one whom we love more than our own 
 lives, called to another state of being; — ignorant 
 — unprepared. To look back for comfort, and 
 to recollect mispent time — misapplied talents — 
 contempt of the Being before whom he is on the 
 eve of appearing. The past is too dreadful — we
 
 172 DUNALLAN. 
 
 turn to the future — all is darkness : or if there is 
 a gleam of hope it must arise from a change of 
 views and feelings in the perhaps almost insensi- 
 ble — or suffering — or feverish — or delirious ob- 
 ject of our agonised affections." 
 
 " Dreadful !" exclaimed Catharine, shudder- 
 ing. 
 
 " Dreadful ! indeed," replied Mrs. Oswald. 
 " Yours, my dear Catharine, will, I trust, be a 
 very different lot, however clouded the early part 
 of your married life may be ; but forgive me for 
 speaking on this subject, I have been led into it 
 unawares.^' . 
 
 Catharine made no reply, but, after a few mo- 
 ments of thoughtful silence, asked Mrs. Oswald 
 to walk out with her. " Mr. Dunallan,'"* said 
 she, " is too kindly solicitous about me ; he seems 
 to think he ought to attend to me even in pre- 
 ference to his friends. I must not be ungrateful. 
 Let us go out, and desire the servants to say that 
 the fineness of the evening tempted us, but that 
 we shall return in an hour or two." 
 
 Mrs. Oswald agreed to Catharine'*s proposal, 
 but on reachmg the hall, they met the gentlemen 
 on their way to join them in the drawing room. 
 
 "Going to walk ' again ? my dear aunt," said 
 Dunallan approaching Catharine, and offering his
 
 DUNALLAN. 173 
 
 arm, " I hope you will allow us to accompany 
 you." 
 
 " Oh no," said Catharine, blushing and pass- 
 ing him, " we wish to," —^ she stopt, not know- 
 ing what to say. 
 
 " I do not mean to intrude," replied Dunallan, 
 in a voice which made Catharine turn back. He 
 seemed really hurt. 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Oswald, " I must tell you our 
 secret. Catharine supposes that you gentlemen 
 must wish for some private conversation, and that 
 you would feel more at liberty if we ladies dis- 
 posed of ourselves, so as to rid you of the trou- 
 ble of attending to us." 
 
 Dunallan turned to Catharine. Her looks con- 
 firmed the truth of what Mrs. Oswald had said. 
 His countenance softened. " I wish for no con- 
 versation, Catharine, to which your presence 
 would not give its greatest interest." 
 
 " We all have cause to entreat your presence, 
 Madam," said Mr. Gower, laughing. " Dunal- 
 lan*s thoughts have not been one moment with us 
 since you left the room." 
 
 Dunallan reddened excessively, and attempted, 
 but with embarrassment, to change the subject. 
 Mr. Gower, however, seemed to enjoy his confu- 
 sion, and continued to rally him without mercy.
 
 174. DUNALLAN. 
 
 '' I know why you do not marry, Gower," said 
 Walderford at last. 
 
 " Do you, Walderford ? That is more than I 
 do myself." 
 
 " It is because you feel that you would be most 
 remarkably ridiculous as a new married man.'** 
 
 Mr. Gower laughed. " That may be one rea- 
 
 son - 
 
 " Do not seek for more reasons," interrupted 
 Mrs. Oswald. " You gentlemen who glory in 
 your liberty, are always most completely govern- 
 ed when you do marry." 
 
 Mr. Gower himself now became the object of 
 raillery ; but the conversation soon assumed a 
 more serious tone. Dunallan and his friends 
 talked without reserve. They explained to Mrs. 
 Oswald and Catharine the nature of the affair 
 which induced Dunallan to go abroad ; what had 
 given rise to it ; and what the views of govern- 
 ment, and those benevolent men were, at whose 
 request he had undertaken the mission. Catha- 
 rine perceived, by what his friends said in conver- 
 sation, that Dunallan was very highly esteemed 
 by those distinguished individuals. He himself 
 seemed to feel the most enthusiastic and lively 
 interest in the success of his undertakintr. Some 
 difficulties were started by Mr. Gower. These 
 Dunallan met with good-natured raillery. Mr.
 
 DUNALLAN. 175 
 
 Walderford's objections were more connected 
 with his feelings of anxiety for the success and 
 reputation of his friend, in an undertaking diffi- 
 cult in itself, and exposed to misconstruction. 
 These objections Dunallan endeavoured to do 
 away by the calmest and most convincing argu- 
 ments, while his manner to his friend expressed 
 the most earnest anxiety to divest him of every 
 cause of uneasiness. 
 
 " You seem to wish to dissuade Mr. Dunallan 
 from undertaking this benevolent mission, Mr. 
 Walderford," said Catharine. 
 
 " I confess I do,**' replied he, " because there 
 is another situation we wish him to accept of, 
 which would keep him with us, and in which I 
 am certain he would distinguish himself; but dis- 
 tinction has no charms for him." 
 
 " Distinction no charms !" repeated Catharine. 
 " Impossible ! I shall never understand you, Mr. 
 Dunallan. What do you value ?" 
 
 Dunallan smiled, and was going to reply ; but 
 Mrs. Oswald answered for him. 
 
 " He values that distinction, my dear Catha- 
 rine," said she, " which will one day be bestow- 
 ed by his Master in heaven, in those few simple 
 but precious words, * Well done, good and faith- 
 ful servant.' " 
 
 " But, my dear Madam," said Catharine, some-
 
 176 DUNALLAN. 
 
 what indignantly, " do you really think that ob- 
 taining distinction honourably in this world, 
 would make him less worthy of that you men- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " If distinction was his only aim, my dear, or 
 if preferred to usefulness without it, I certainly 
 think it would." 
 
 Catharine was silent for a few moments, then 
 said, half reproachfully, to Mrs. Oswald, " and 
 you. Madam, wish Mr. Dunallan to leave us." 
 
 " My aunt is my best and kindest friend on this 
 occasion, my dear Catharine," said Dunallan, in 
 reply. " She assists me to keep the plain path 
 of duty, instead of attempting to lure me from 
 it." 
 
 As the evening passed away, Catharine became 
 every moment more sad. Dunallan, too, attempt- 
 ed in vain to join cheerfully in the conversation. 
 He became absent and thoughtful, and only seem- 
 ed to hear when Catharine spoke. When she 
 was silent, he continued to look at her, apparent- 
 ly unconsciously, with an expression of the deep- 
 est, though most melancholy interest. 
 
 Catharine's heart filled when she bade him 
 good night, and she turned away to conceal the 
 tears which she could not restrain. 
 
 She then hurried to her own apartment, and 
 dismissing Martin, indulged her tears without re-
 
 DUNALLAN. 177 
 
 straint. She continued half the night awake in 
 deep and painful thought. In vain she attempted 
 to reconcile Dunallan's undisguised tenderness, 
 and evident unwillingness to leave her, with his 
 never, by even the slightest hint, expressing a 
 wish that she could accompany him. At last the 
 thought struck her, that pity for her singular 
 and unhappy situation, of which he had been 
 one cause, had excited in Dunallan's generous 
 and feeling nature those strong emotions she had 
 witnessed. She placed herself in idea in the 
 same circumstances, and thought his feelings 
 were perfectly natural ; yet the idea was mortify- 
 ing, and she attempted to banish it, and to believe 
 what she now most fervently wished, that their 
 separation was as painful to him as she was forced 
 to acknowledge to her own heart it now was to 
 her.
 
 178 DUNALLAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 After a few' hours of unrefreshing sleep, Ca- 
 tharine rose next morning with her heart still 
 oppressed by the thoughts of the night before. 
 When she began to dress, and saw her pale and 
 exhausted looks, she determined not to betray 
 her feelings, by appearing at prayers, or at break- 
 fast ; but soon recollecting that an indisposition 
 so serious as to confine her to her apartment 
 might be ascribed to the same cause, she waited 
 till the bell for prayers had been finished for a 
 few minutes, then entered the library, in the 
 hope, that when all were assembled, she might 
 hurry to her seat unobserved. In this, however, 
 she" was disappointed. Dunallan had waited for 
 her ; and every eye was turned to her when she 
 entered the room. She apologised with much 
 confusion for her lateness, and entreated Dun- 
 allan to proceed. 
 
 " First let me chide you for joining us at all 
 this morning, my dearest Catharine," said Mrs. 
 Oswald, " you seem really unwell, my dear child,"
 
 DUNALLAN. 179 
 
 added she, looking at Catharine with much con- 
 cern. 
 
 " Oh, not at all, my dear Mrs. Oswald, only a 
 little headach which always makes me look thus." 
 
 Catharine blushed as she told her falsehood, 
 and meeting Dunallan's eyes, which were anxi- 
 ously fixed upon her, she again blushed still 
 more deeply. 
 
 Dunallan began to read, but Catharine could 
 not listen even to him. Her thoughts immedi- 
 ately returned to the painful idea, that Dunallan's 
 kindness and tender interest was excited by com- 
 passion for her, and she determined that from 
 that moment he should have no cause to suppose 
 she was unhappy. At breakfast she affected an 
 indifference, and even gaiety of manner, which 
 ill expressed the feelings of her heart. But Ca- 
 tharine could not long act a part : she soon sunk 
 into silence; and that thoughtful sadness which 
 the feelings of the moment produced. Dunallan, 
 instead of being deceived by her attempts to ap- 
 pear more gay, was even more tenderly attentive, 
 and seemed more sad than the evening before ; 
 and Catharine felt relieved wheni, after break- 
 fast, he received some letters which drew his at- 
 tention from her. These letters, however, soon 
 seemed to excite a very painful interest. After 
 musing for some time over their apparently dis-
 
 180 DUNALLAN. 
 
 agreeable contents, Dunallan requested his friends 
 to accompany him for a short time to the library. 
 
 " You have received bad news, Edward !" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Oswald, in a hurried and anxious 
 tone of voice. 
 
 " No, my dear aunt." He then held the letters 
 to Catharine. " If you can be at the trouble to 
 read these, my dear Catharine, they will show 
 my aunt that I have no cause of uneasiness, but 
 that of being obliged to leave home sooner than 
 I expected." 
 
 He then left the room with his friends. Ca- 
 tharine's hands trembled so violently, she could 
 not unfold the letter she wished to read. Mrs. 
 Oswald took it, and read aloud its contents. They 
 were merely an earnest desire expressed by those 
 gentlemen who managed the affair in which Dun- 
 allan was about to be engaged, that he would 
 join them in London as soon as it was possible, 
 a very favourable opportunity having offered for 
 his going on his destination. 
 
 Mrs. Oswald was a good deal affected, and 
 struggled in vain to suppress her tears. Catha- 
 rine did not weep ; she was overpowered. She 
 knew before that he was to leave her soon ; but 
 this sudden call for his departure destroyed at 
 once every secret hope of an explanation, or of 
 she knew not what, which she had unconsciously
 
 DUNALLAN. 181 
 
 cherished. Mrs. Oswald soon recovered her 
 composure, and lookuig at Catharine's pale and 
 expressive countenance, with surprise, said, " My 
 dear girl, Edward will not go if you express the 
 slightest wish that he should remain." 
 
 " Not for the universe would I express such a 
 wish,"" replied Catharine, " I have no such wish, 
 for he evidently desires to go ;" and she burst in- 
 to tears. 
 
 " My dearest Catharine," said Mrs. Oswald in 
 a solemn, but soothing tone of voice, " do not 
 deceive me. You know you promised to be guid- 
 ed by my advice. Trust me, my love ; do not 
 let pride or false delicacy injure both your hap- 
 piness. Dunallan has assured me, that should 
 you wish him to remain, he would consider it 
 his duty to do so, unless you would accompany 
 him, my dear Catharine, which, I believe, would 
 be his wish." 
 
 " Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Oswald, that is not 
 his wish — we have conversed on the subject — he 
 never proposed my going. Dearest Mrs. Oswald, 
 I entreat you never mention the subject to him. 
 I would sooner die than that he should imagine 
 
 that . Promise me, dearest Mrs. Oswald, 
 
 that you will never utter a word to him on the 
 subject."
 
 182 DUNALLAN. 
 
 Mrs. Oswald hesitated — an approaching step 
 terrified Catharine. 
 
 " Will you not promise, Mrs. Oswald ?" ex- 
 claimed she in an agony of apprehension. 
 
 " I promise, my love ; compose yourself." 
 
 Catharine attempted to do so. The step pass- 
 ed, but the next was Dunallan. He appeared so 
 sad, that Catharine's eyes again filled as he ap- 
 proached. He did not look at her, however, 
 but said in a low voice to Mrs. Oswald 
 
 " I think I must go to-day — I ought — " 
 
 " To-day !" exclaimed Catharine, " so soon !" 
 her voice changed, and she stopt. 
 
 Mrs. Oswald asked if he was quite prepared to 
 go so suddenly. 
 
 " No, not quite certainly, in any way," replied 
 he, with emotion ; " but delay, I believe, will not 
 do." 
 
 " Not even till to-morrow ?" said Catharine. 
 
 " Certainly," replied Dunallan, " I may delay 
 till to-morrow since you propose it." 
 
 " Not for me," replied she, hurriedly. 
 
 " A sister might wish this little delay, Ca- 
 tharine," said he, reproachfully ; " fear not, I 
 shall not misunderstand your feelings." 
 
 Catharine felt relieved. " Let it be to-mor- 
 row, then," said she, sweetly, and holding out her 
 hand to him.
 
 DUNALLAN. 183 
 
 He only held it for a moment, then let it go. 
 He seemed displeased ; but after a few moments 
 turned again to Catharine, and requested per- 
 mission to write to her. 
 
 " I wished to propose this," replied she. He 
 looked much pleased. " Mrs. Oswald," added 
 Catharine, looking round for her, but she had 
 slipped away. Catharine became confused, and 
 forgot what she was going to say. Dunallan 
 looked at her for a moment, then said, 
 
 " What did Mrs. Oswald say to you, my dear 
 Catharine, about my writing to you !" 
 
 Catharine instantly recollected herself, " She 
 said I should have great pleasure in receiving 
 letters — " 
 
 " So it was my aunt who excited your wish to 
 hear from me," interrupted Dunallan. 
 
 " Not entirely ; but I should certainly not have 
 proposed it had she not told me that you had 
 time for every thing." 
 
 " Time, Catharine ! time to write to you ! I 
 shall esteem it a pleasure — a sweet recreation, to 
 which I shall look forward with impatience. You 
 will answer my letters ; at least some of them ?" 
 
 " Will you tire of an answer to each?" asked 
 Catharine, scarcely knowing what he meant. 
 
 " Tire ! Oh, never ! but I shall write very fre- 
 quently ; for I am so sociable and communicative
 
 184 DUNALLAN. 
 
 that I feel but half pleased, or half any thing, till 
 I have imparted my feelings to those I wish to 
 love me. If I could be so happy as to prevail on 
 you to write thus to me, I should feel absence 
 greatly sweetened indeed." 
 
 Catharine smiled, " My answers will entirely 
 depend on your letters," replied she. 
 
 " Then you will be as frank as I shall be. Oh ! 
 Catharine, keep your promise, and then I shall, 
 perhaps, have cause to rejoice in this painful se- 
 paration." 
 
 Dunallan then begged leave to arrange with 
 Catharine those affairs which it was necessary she 
 should manage in his absence ; and these he had 
 made so perfectly easy, that, to her own surprise, 
 she understood all he wished. She, however, 
 proposed that Mrs. Oswald should act for him in 
 his absence ; but Dunallan gently urged the pro- 
 priety of her beginning to attend to such matters, 
 and added, " I shall write my opinion on this 
 subject, my dear Catharine, we must not now lose 
 our few precious moments." 
 
 Catharine only needed to know what Dunallan 
 wished, to make any thing interesting to her ; even 
 money matters, to which he seemed to attach a 
 responsibility, in a quarter where she had never 
 before considered herself accountable. 
 
 " We are only stewards of our large fortunes,
 
 DUNALLAN. 185 
 
 my dear Catharine," said he. " We ought to 
 know, not only that it is not improperly squan- 
 dered away, but ought to study with deep atten- 
 tion how it may be most usefully employed, and 
 follow steadily those objects which our calmer re- 
 flections point out as most desirable to be obtain- 
 ed by these gifts of providence." 
 
 Catharine promised to do all he wished ; and 
 Dunallan, on his part, promised to write his opi- 
 nion to her on every subject on which she wished 
 to know it. After this arrangement Dunallan 
 presented some papers to her ; " These, my dear 
 Catharine, are my plans and wishes about my 
 village; the names of the villagers, and many 
 other things which I leave with you to arrange 
 and follow out as you think best." 
 
 " Oh, I am incapable of this !" exclaimed Ca- 
 tharine, " Mrs. Oswald '' 
 
 " Ask Mrs. Oswald's advice ; but, unless you 
 fear the trouble, believe me, dear Catharine, such 
 occupations will add to your happiness. Will 
 you make the trial ; and if you do find the trou- 
 ble too great, Mrs. Oswald will I know relieve 
 
 you." 
 
 " And you will despise me," said Catharine. 
 " Oh, do not leave such important matters in my 
 
 care." 
 
 " Will you not make the attempt ? I must de-
 
 186 DUNALLAN. 
 
 spise myself, not you, dear Catharine, if I find 
 that I so little know what is agreeable occupa- 
 tion." 
 
 " If you will promise then not to despise me if 
 I fail, I will attempt to do all you wish." 
 
 Dunallan had loaded Catharine with occupa- 
 tions before they separated, but she felt gratified 
 to be thus trusted. The hope of hearing fre- 
 quently from her seemed to have greatly recon- 
 ciled Dunallan to his immediate departure, and 
 Catharine, too, felt her heart lighter when she 
 looked forward to this means of intercourse. 
 
 It was late before Dunallan had finished im- 
 parting his plans and wishes. After dinner he 
 proposed spending the evening in a beautiful re- 
 treat near the castle, which he still called, *' My 
 Mother's Walk." Every one assented with plea- 
 sure to this proposal. 
 
 The evening was delightful, and this favourite 
 walk of Dunallan's was so situated as to receive 
 all the charms it gave. The lake, unruffled, and 
 reflecting on its bosom, now glowing in the soft 
 evening light, the rocks and wooded hills, which 
 formed its boundary. The more distant moun- 
 tains, reddened by the bright rays, lay before 
 them — while the castle rising from its picturesque 
 cliffs, also gilded by the glowing light, seemed to
 
 DUNAXiLAN. 187 
 
 tower from the wooded dell which separated it 
 from Dunallan's walk. 
 
 The scene seemed to suit the feelings of all 
 the party. Catharine felt it calm her spirits, 
 or rather mingle with the sadness she could not 
 overcome, those undefinable emotions which, 
 though full of melancholy, are still exquisitely 
 pleasurable. All remained silent when this 
 scene first opened on their view. Dunallan 
 broke the silence. 
 
 " Do you remember such an evening as this 
 at Dunallan Castle, Catharine ?" asked he, 
 '' when I accompanied you to your favourite 
 walk ?" 
 
 <^ " I do," replied she, " and this scene greatly 
 resembles that which I so much loved at Dunal- 
 lan Castle." 
 
 Mr. Gower and Mr. Stanly soon left the party 
 and walked to some distance, wholly occupied 
 with the striking and magnificent views which 
 presented themselves at every step. Walder- 
 ford remained near his friend. After a few turns 
 Dunallan led Catharine to a seat which com- 
 manded the most extensive and magnificent part 
 of the view — and placed himself between her and 
 his friend. 
 
 " Do you recollect our conversation on that
 
 188 DUNALLAN. 
 
 evening you mentioned, Mr. Dunallan?" asked 
 Catharine. 
 
 « I do, perfectly." 
 
 " Mr. Dunallan on that evening," continued 
 Catharine, addressing Mrs. Oswald, " blamed me 
 for ascribing to nature — to an undefined idea, 
 the glory which is due to the Author of all those 
 beauties which surround us." 
 
 " I agree with my nephew, my dear, in think- 
 ing we are wrong when we banish the Creator of 
 our existence from our thoughts, at the very mo- 
 ment we are most sincerely admiring his works. 
 I have seen many turn coldly away, when that 
 beauty they admired as the work of nature, was 
 piously ascribed to its real Author. There are 
 times, however, when we all wish to derive com- 
 fort from the idea of His presence — at least with 
 those we love," added Mrs. Oswald, looking at 
 Dunallan. " We all wish to feel assured that He 
 who so profusely throws around us all those 
 beauties and blessings, is also the tender guar- 
 dian and protector of our absent friends." 
 
 " True," said Walderford ; " I cannot help 
 at times, however, feeling indignant, when I 
 hear people who never seem to have any religi- 
 ous feelings, except when some such painful 
 event as separation from friends takes place, 
 then appropriate to themselves all the comforts
 
 DUNALLAN. 189 
 
 which are surely intended exclusively for those 
 who are as much influenced by religion, when 
 surrounded by blessings, as they are when they 
 are in danger of being separated from those bless- 
 mgs. 
 
 " But they are sincere at those sad moments,'*'' 
 said Catharine, " and every pious feeling will 
 surely be accepted and rewarded as far as it is 
 
 sincere.'" 
 
 " I should be sorry to despise the slightest 
 emotion of piety," replied Walderford ; " but, 
 my dear madam, would such feelings be consider- 
 ed of any value in human intercourse ? Would 
 you esteem that to be real affection in a depen- 
 dent which led him to apply to you for assistance 
 in matters where you alone could help him, and 
 at all other times allowed him to neglect or de- 
 spise your service, and positively disobey your 
 orders ?'" 
 
 " Certainly not ; but we cannot judge of the 
 Divine Being by such comparisons — we cannot 
 ascribe to Him human feelings, and human sen- 
 timents, such as we experience towards those who 
 treat us ill." 
 
 " I allow we cannot altogether — yet we must 
 conceive of Him whom we cannot comprehend, 
 from what He has revealed of Himself, and 
 from what He demands of us ; and you know,
 
 190 DUNALLAN. 
 
 my dear madam, He requires our hearts, which 
 must surely mean the supreme place ^ji our affec- 
 tions." 
 
 " But do you understand that literally of our 
 human affections — our common feelings ?'' asked 
 Catharine smiling. 
 
 " I do, my dearest madam. I am not consci- 
 ous of possessing two hearts — two sets of affec- 
 tions — one for common use; and another, sacred, 
 and only to be called forth in sorrows and diffi- 
 culties ; to approach a forgotten, and almost un- 
 known God." 
 
 Catharine looked around her. 
 
 " I believe we all understand it so, my dear 
 Catharine," said Dunallan. 
 
 " Wliy then, I suppose we all should be of 
 the same opinion," said she " if we explained 
 ourselves ; for I should think the whole human 
 race lost, at least with very few exceptions,"" add- 
 ed she recollecting herself for a moment, " were 
 we to understand it literally. But to be sure I 
 cannot judge of the hearts of others," she re- 
 joined, " I ought not." 
 
 " Judge by your own heart, my dear Catha- 
 rine," said Dunallan. 
 
 " By my own heart ! then I must condemn 
 myself; I cannot stand this test literally. Am I
 
 DUNALLAN. 191 
 
 to believe that any human being can, Mr. Dunal- 
 lan?'' 
 
 " Yes, I believe many. I do not mean to 
 say, dear Catharine, that any human being lives, 
 without often — daily, hourly, acting, or feeling, 
 or thinking wrong — contrary to the will of the 
 Supreme Being, which is beyond the conception 
 of our weak and corrupt natures pure and holy ; 
 but this perversion of heart, this weakness, this 
 inability to obey the laws of his Creator in all 
 their purity, is the greatest of all griefs to a truly 
 religious being. You know, my dear Catharine, 
 we may be led by our evil passions and tempers 
 to oifend those whom we most dearly love on 
 earth ; we are then miserable till we are forgiven 
 and reconciled ; so are they who supremely love 
 their Master in heaven. They may be tempted 
 to do things displeasing to him, but such devia- 
 tions are followed by a wretchedness so insup- 
 portable, they cannot but feel that their love for 
 Him and His service is superior to all other at- 
 tachments whatever. 
 
 Catharine remained silent and thoughtful for 
 some moments, then said, " Is that devotion of 
 heart to the Supreme Being, the peculiarity which 
 distinguishes those you told me were called 
 ' saints,' Mrs. Oswald ?" asked she. 
 
 " It is, my love ; and I pray heaven you may
 
 192 DUNALLAN. 
 
 soon experience it so powerfully, so delightfully, 
 as to disregard its peculiarity." 
 
 " We must not, however, deceive Catharine, 
 my dear aunt," said Dunallan. " The world does 
 not give those whom they in ridicule call ' saints,' 
 credit for really feeling this devotion. They are 
 accused of affecting only to feel it. In the world, 
 a ' saint' and a hypocrite are synonymous terms." 
 
 Catharine recollected the character she had 
 heard ascribed to Dunallan himself, and felt the 
 truth of what he said. 
 
 " That opinion, however," said Mrs. Oswald, 
 " has been rather shaken by the allowed excel- 
 lence of character of some of the ' saints.' " 
 
 " Yes," replied Dunallan ; " but, notwithstand- 
 ing their unreserved avowal of the principles which 
 influence them, these men are said to be naturally 
 so well disposed, and so sensible and clever, that 
 they are distinguished members of society in spite 
 of the strange opinions they have adopted on 
 religious subjects." 
 
 " I have often heard these very sentiments ex- 
 pressed regarding them," said Catharine, " and 
 I confess I felt great contempt for the religious 
 part of their character." 
 
 " Have you any curiosity to know more about 
 that peculiarity now, my dearest Catharine ?" ask- 
 ed Dunallan.
 
 DUNALLAN. 193 
 
 " The very greatest curiosity. I wish to know 
 how they can so command their natural feelings, 
 as really, in the bustle of active life, to be guided 
 by that devotion of heart which you have describ- 
 ed." 
 
 " I shall have great pleasure in attempting to 
 explain the enigma to you, dearest Catharine," 
 said Dunallan ; " and those books you have pro- 
 mised to read will assist me. You see I wish 
 you to become a ' saint' You will find, however, 
 by the books I have selected, that I am desirous 
 of your complete conviction. You will then see 
 both sides of the many arguments which have 
 been employed on that most important subject, 
 whether an absolute unreserved devotion of every 
 power of the mind, and every feeling of the heart, 
 and every action of the life, to the service of our 
 Creator, is required by the scriptures ; or whether 
 the vague notions which have so little influence 
 on the lives of the generality of those who pro- 
 fess, and suppose themselves to be Christians, 
 can be all that is required. I have marked those 
 passages which I think most forcible." 
 
 Catharine acknowledged her obligations to 
 Dunallan : " How much trouble you have ta- 
 ken," said she, " to lead me right in your ab- 
 sence. I shall have no excuse if I err." 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 DUNALLAN. 
 
 Dunallan smiled rather sadly, " I do feel 
 most anxious, Catharine, for your happiness. You 
 know my opinion is, that we cannot be so unless 
 we are in the right path, as well in affections as 
 in actions." 
 
 The other gentlemen now joined the party, 
 and the conversation became more general. Dun- 
 allan attempted to be cheerful, but did not en- 
 tirely succeed ; and as the evening advanced, the 
 sadness of the whole party increased, and the con- 
 versation partook of the same feelings. The sun 
 soon set unobserved, from the deep interest of 
 these last moments of intercourse. Catharine, 
 however, felt the increasing darkness a relief, 
 and indulged the tears she had found chfficulty 
 in restraining, while Dunallan had been address- 
 ing her in a voice of such tender and kind solici- 
 tude, that every word had reached her inmost 
 heart. A servant approached, to remind Dun- 
 allan that it was the hour for prayers. 
 
 " Why should we leave this magnificent place 
 of worship?" exclaimed Walderford. '' That 
 bright rising moon will light us home. The air 
 is balm : The ladies cannot suffer." 
 
 " Let us remain here, then," said Dunallan, 
 " if you, Catharine, have no objection." 
 
 " Oh, certainly not," replied she.
 
 DUNALLAN. 195 
 
 " You may all join us here," said Dunallan to 
 the servant. " You, my dear aunt, must assist 
 us with your memory," continued he. 
 
 Mrs. Oswald assented ; and when, after a time, 
 the servants gathered together in a group at a 
 little distance, she said, " I shall repeat a hymn, 
 and all who know it will join when we sing." 
 She then repeated some verses, descriptive of the 
 feelings of parting friends, beautifully contrasted 
 with the peace and security of that state where 
 there shall be no more parting. All the party 
 excepting Catharine, and most of the servants, 
 seemed to know the hymn, and joined in singing. 
 Catharine listened, as if to an illusion, so unlike 
 was all she heard and witnessed to any scene at 
 which she had ever before been present, yet so 
 completely suited to the exalted state of her feel- 
 ings. An echo, too, from the cliffs sweetly joined, 
 as if a spirit had been near, and, when the hymn 
 was closed, prolonged the sacred song in notes 
 more aerial. Dunallan paused, till from cliff 
 to cliff* the faint sounds died away. He then re- 
 peated, in an impressive and solemn tone of 
 voice, several passages of scripture calculated to 
 lead the heart to its Creator, as the only source 
 from which it can find happiness to satisfy its 
 vast desires ; and then rising, and uncovering his 
 head, he implored the divine blessing, and light.
 
 196 DUNALLAN. 
 
 and protection, and peace, for all around him, 
 so earnestly, and so particularly, that his prayer 
 seemed a farewell to each, of the most tender 
 and affectionate nature. When he had finished 
 he offered his arm to Catharine. The party then 
 proceeded slowly and silently towards the house. 
 
 " And this is methodism !" thought Catharine, 
 as they walked. " This is that dull, gloomy, 
 degrading superstition, and hypocrisy, which I 
 have so long joined in regarding with scorn and 
 contempt." A feeling of apprehension mingled 
 with her other emotions. " How solemn," 
 thought she, " is this continual recollection of 
 God. Surely this must be true religion; and if 
 it is, what I have hitherto regarded as such can- 
 not be so. But how few are thus ever mindful 
 of the presence of God ? It cannot be necessary, 
 or who is safe ? Those few particular people on- 
 ly at whom all the rest of the world laugh ? Im- 
 possible ! I must not be led into this narrow bi- 
 gotry." But Catharine could not reason away 
 either her veneration for that religion which so 
 constantly and so powerfully influenced those 
 with whom she now was, or her misgivings re- 
 jjardinnr her own. 
 
 It was late before the party returned to the 
 house ; and as the travellers were to set off early 
 next morning, Mrs. Oswald very soon proposed
 
 DUNALLAN. 197 
 
 retiring. Dunallan followed her and Catharine 
 out of the room. 
 
 " My dearest aunt, I shall not see you in the 
 morning — we go too early." 
 
 Mrs. Oswald embraced him in silence. She 
 attempted to bless him, but the words died on 
 her lips, and she hurried away. 
 
 Catharine held out her hand to him. " You 
 will write very soon ?" 
 
 " How soon, dearest Catharine ?" 
 
 " Perhaps to-morrow, when you stop for the 
 night, if it will not plague you." 
 
 " Yes, ah yes, I shall write to-morrow ; — and 
 you will write frequently to me ?" 
 
 " I will, indeed." 
 
 Dunallan's farewell completely overcame Ca- 
 tharine ; it was so tender, yet so solemn. She 
 disengaged herself from him, and hastening to 
 her own apartment, she burst into a passion of 
 tears. " And this is the same Dunallan," thought 
 she, " whom only a week ago I dreaded as the 
 greatest enemy to my peace."" She continued to 
 weep, regardless of the presence of Martin, till, 
 worn out and miserable, she at last consented to 
 go to bed, — but not to sleep.
 
 198 DUNALLAN. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 All the next day Catharine felt listless and mise- 
 rable. She sought refuge in solitude from Mrs. 
 Oswald's composure, and, as she thought, unfeel - 
 ing activity ; for that good lady occupied herself 
 in all her usual employments. 
 
 Catharine thought over the last six strange 
 weeks ; and blamed herself severely during the 
 retrospect. Why had she suffered the convic- 
 tion of Dunallan's worth, which forced itself 
 upon her almost immediately on his arrival at 
 Dunallan Castle, to make no impression ? WTiy 
 had she shut her eyes to the noble sincerity, and 
 mild dignity of his manners, and her ears to the 
 good sense, superior talent, and constantly strict 
 principle which had marked his conversation ? 
 Why had she suffered prejudice, and prejudice 
 excited by those she knew were his enemies, to 
 blind her to all his good, amiable, admirable 
 qualities, and blind her also to her own happi- 
 ness, to secure which she should have sought for
 
 DUNALLAN. 199 
 
 all that was amiable in the being to whom she was 
 to look for the peace of he'r future life. " And 
 now he is gone," thought she, " when I had just 
 begun to feel that I could delight in looking to his 
 approbation, — to his affection, as the source of all 
 my happiness." She recollected him during his re- 
 sidence at Dunallan Castle, — his polite and manly 
 gentleness to herself on his first arrival there, 
 when she knew he had revolted at the idea of be- 
 ing united to her, — his perfect command of tem- 
 per, and superiority in argument, and in every 
 thing, to the arrogant, but clever and ingenious 
 St. Clair, — his unmoved politeness, and even 
 kindness of manner, (when they would receive it,) 
 to all around him, while they were watching every 
 opportunity to disagree mth him, or to speak at, 
 or turn into ridicule what he was known to re- 
 spect and value. Catharine blushed with shame 
 and self-reproach, when she recollected the spe- 
 cies of persecution to which Dunallan had been 
 subjected, and the patience with which he had 
 borne it. Even his coldness to her father, which 
 had seemed to increase rather than diminish, she 
 could not help feeling raised him in her opinion. 
 " And he is gone," thought she, " and perhaps 
 for years, to engage in a thousand important af- 
 fairs, which he undertook to avoid the unhappy 
 being who was to be forced upon him as his wife ;
 
 200 DUNALLAN. 
 
 and his heart is now engaged in those affairs, and 
 he will soon forget the last disagreeable six weeks, 
 or remember them only as a dream, an unpleasant 
 dream ! and when the impression of pity for me 
 has worn off, he will forget me too, or only think 
 of me as a troublesome charge; and, when he 
 sees some amiable woman, whose mind is elevat- 
 ed, and whose heart is devoted to all that is good, 
 like his own, he will then remember me as the in- 
 superable, and if he could hate, hateful bar to his 
 happiness." 
 
 Catharine could scarcely endure her own feel- 
 ings, which increased in bitterness the longer she 
 indulged them. She joined Mrs. Oswald at din- 
 ner, and felt, in some degree, reconciled to her, 
 on observing that she betrayed some emotion at 
 seeing Dunallan's place at table empty ; but this 
 was soon over, and Mrs. Oswald began to talk in 
 her usual cheerful tone of voice. Catharine did 
 not attempt to reply in the same strain. 
 
 The children were brought after dinner, and 
 Catharine, ashamed again to retire to her own 
 room, and averse to conversation, listened in si- 
 lence to their prattle. They soon began to talk 
 of their uncle ; and their innocent and simple ex- 
 pressions of love to him overcame her. She rose 
 and walked to a window ; one of the children fol- 
 lowed, and mounting on a chair near where Ca-
 
 DUNALLAN. 201 
 
 tharine stood, put her little arms softly round her 
 neck. Catharine turned, and concealing her weep- 
 ing face upon the child, repaid her caresses an 
 hundred fold. 
 
 " Uncle Dunallan told us this morning, that 
 we must often talk of him to you, aunt Dunallan, 
 and ask you not to forget him." 
 
 Catharine kissed the child tenderly, " This 
 morning, Mary ? did you see your uncle this 
 morning ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes; aunt Oswald made breakfast for 
 uncle Dunallan, and Lilias and I sat on his knee." 
 
 Catharine felt as if she had been deprived of a 
 right ; " had I known this," said she to Mrs. Os- 
 wald, rather reproachfully. 
 
 " You should have known it, dear Catharine, 
 had I thought it could have given either of you 
 pleasure to part a second time; Edward knew not 
 of my wish to see him in the morning. It was not 
 a selfish wish ; it was a desire to settle some tri- 
 fling, but to these children, indispensible affairs, 
 which induced me to choose that time, when I 
 knew all other matters were arranged ; but it was 
 unnecessary. Edward had not forgotten them; 
 hurried as he has been, he has forgotten nobody. 
 Mrs. Oswald then began a theme, to which Ca- 
 tharine could listen without losing her interest, — 
 the praises of Dunallan. The evening passed ra-
 
 202 DUNALLAN. 
 
 pidly away, while Mrs. Oswald recounted anec- 
 dotes of his early years, and described the change 
 of character, which his religious principles had 
 produced, " for," said she, " he did not always 
 think on these subjects as he now does. He was 
 naturally the proudest of human beings ; not ex- 
 actly from an high opinion of himself, but from 
 an exalted idea of the powers and virtues of the 
 human mind, and from the high aim of his own. 
 He passed through all the early part of his edu- 
 cation with the applause and love of all his mas- 
 ters, and the warm affections of his young com- 
 panions. At college he distinguished himself by 
 his uncommon power of uniting the character of 
 the regular student, to that of the agreeable com- 
 panion, and intimate and beloved friend of a vast 
 number of the young men at college. He would 
 then have made any exertion to obtain distinction. 
 He studied half the night to gain the next prize, 
 then spent the day with those who valued not learn- 
 ing, but as it could add by the superiority and re- 
 finement it gave to the pleasure of the passing hour; 
 yet Dunallan was so strictly pure in his morals, 
 and so regular in his hours, that he was pointed out 
 to his young companions as a model for their imi- 
 tation, and so much was he beloved, tliat they wil- 
 lingly allowed his superiority. Amongst these, 
 however, there was one whom Dunallan found to
 
 DUNALLAN. 203 
 
 be his superior, and him he loved with all the ar- 
 dour of his nature. He was a young man of fine 
 genius, but of narrow fortune. He lived very re- 
 tiredly at college, having few associates, and 
 wholly devoted to study. There was something 
 in his appearance which greatly interested Dun- 
 allan, who eagerly sought his acquaintance, which 
 with difficulty he obtained. Dunallan had heard 
 that the singularity of his new friend's religious 
 opinions, was the cause of his love of seclusion, 
 and in all the pride of reason, he flattered him- 
 self that he would easily convince the interesting 
 enthusiast of the weakness and absurdity of those 
 opinions, and be the means of drawing his learn- 
 ing and fine genius into notice. He soon got his 
 friend to state all his opinions to him ; and they 
 were in direct opposition to Dunallan's most fav- 
 ourite systems. He felt indignant at seeing so 
 fine a mind acquiesce, as his friend's did, in what 
 he regarded as the prejudices of weak under- 
 standings, or of women and children. He found, 
 however, that none of his arguments made the 
 slightest impression on his friend : on the con- 
 trary, he seemed absolutely certain of the truth 
 of his own opinions, and when Dunallan became 
 heated, and sometimes even contemptuous, his 
 friend continued perfectly calm, and even seemed 
 to feel more affectionately for his proud oppon-
 
 204 DUNALLAN. 
 
 ent. Dunallan at last gave up all attempts to en- 
 lighten the enthusiast, but his affection for him 
 increased every day; and he sought his society in 
 preference to that of all others, though each te- 
 naciously retained their own opinions on the sub- 
 ject of religion. Dunallan strenuously supported 
 the dignity, the great capacity, and virtuous in- 
 clinations of human nature, while his friend in- 
 sisted on its depravity, its perversion of its powers, 
 and its weakness in resisting evil. The friends 
 parted. Dunallan, his own master, from the ex- 
 cessive indulgence of his father ; handsome, of 
 high character for so young a man, rich, and re- 
 markably agreeable, from his natural desire to 
 please, was courted and caressed wherever he 
 went. His friend, poor, and in delicate health, 
 retired to a curacy in the west of England. For 
 the next year Dunallan resided chiefly with Har- 
 court, his brother-in-law. He must have been 
 more than man, had his morals not suffered in 
 such society. At the end of that year his college 
 friend died. I know no more. Dunallan soon 
 after went abroad. When he returned, to sooth 
 the last days of his unfortunate sister, he had 
 adopted all his friend's religious opinions." 
 
 Catharine listened with deep attention ; " he 
 told me," said she, " that his sentiments had been 
 changed by some very distressing cause. He
 
 DUNALLAN. 205 
 
 hoped I would adopt his way of thinking without 
 such painful means." 
 
 " I hope you will, my dear. Have you been 
 examining the books he left for your perusal ?" 
 
 " No, madam. I could not read to-day. I 
 did not attempt it." 
 
 " Ah, that is the reason, my love. Had you 
 made the attempt you would have succeeded." 
 
 " I believe not," replied Catharine, rather hurt. 
 
 Next day, however, Catharine did make the 
 attempt, and succeeded in reading those parts at 
 least which had been marked by Dunallan, and 
 she became interested. The subject was new, 
 and she was naturally of an inquiring turn of 
 mind. This day was less unhappy than the pre- 
 ceding one ; but the evening seemed long and sad. 
 She thought of Dunallan's promise to write, and 
 though she scarcely hoped to receive a letter so 
 soon, she waited with impatience for the post- 
 hour. Restless, and unable to occupy herself, 
 she proposed to Mrs. Oswald to walk out, in- 
 tending to go in that direction in which she knew 
 she should meet the man who brought the letters. 
 Mrs. Oswald seemed to have guessed her wishes, 
 for she immediately proceeded to that walk. In 
 a short time Catharine perceived the man at some 
 distance, and approaching, as she thought, at a very 
 slow pace. She quickened hers, and soon joined
 
 206 IXJNALLAN. 
 
 him. After alighting composedly from his horse, 
 and fastening the bridle to a tree, he undid a bag, 
 from which he took several letters, and after 
 carefully looking them over, presented one to Ca- 
 tharine. It vras from Elizabeth ; and, for the 
 first time in her life, Catharine felt disappointed 
 on seeing a letter from her. 
 
 " Is there no other letter for me ?" asked she. 
 
 " No in this bag, my lady. I hae anither, but 
 Mrs. Allan, at the post-office, guessed wha it was 
 frae, and I hae it better pitten up." 
 
 " Make haste, good Robin Skene," said Mrs. 
 Oswald. 
 
 Robin looked pleased and important, and after 
 fumbling some time in his bosom, brought forth 
 a parcel very carefully wrapt up, from which he 
 presented a letter to Catharine, and one also to 
 Mrs. Oswald. 
 
 Catharine turned away, and hastily broke the 
 seal. 
 
 " You seemed in earnest, my dearest Catha- 
 rine, when you permitted me to write so soon ; 
 I should not otherwise have yet ventured to re- 
 mind you of your absent friend. You see how 
 easily I shall persuade myself you are sincere, 
 whenever you express wishes so gratifying to me, 
 and try to forget the many times you have check- 
 ed my slightest encroachment in my character of
 
 DUNALLAN. 207 
 
 a relation with whom you were still unacquainted. 
 I have been hurrying from Arnmore all this day, 
 but my heart and my imagination are still there ; 
 and now, at this late hour — alone at the little inn 
 
 of — , my fancy is still busy at Arnmore. I 
 
 see the party assembled to close the day, by stu- 
 dying the pure precepts, and animating promi- 
 ses of Scripture. My aunt, or perhaps my dear 
 Catharine herself, is reading to her domestics in 
 the absence of her banished, and at this moment 
 very sad friend. Oh, how. I have longed all this 
 day to return to my beloved home ! But adieu to 
 such fruitless wishes ; and now let me begin my 
 correspondence with you, my dearest Catharine, 
 in the character you have wished me to assume. 
 You have asked me to be your instructor in those 
 singular opinions which lead to those singular 
 ways which you have witnessed at Arnmore. 
 You do not know what pleasure this request gave 
 me. It is permitting me to attempt the only 
 thing by which I may perhaps be enabled to atone 
 for what I have done regarding you, and that 
 will be, by freely pointing out those truths to you, 
 without which I firmly believe you could not 
 have enjoyed true happiness in any situation, and 
 the knowledge of which is not dearly purchased, 
 even by very great earthly disappointments or 
 sorrows. Have you begun to read any of my
 
 208 DUNALLAN. 
 
 books ? Do you think the village or the schools 
 will interest you? Remember your promise to 
 give them all up if they do not, at least if you 
 think you ought, when you recollect the situation 
 in which you have been placed. Do not suppose 
 I mean to dictate to you, however, my dearest 
 Catharine, but, believing as I do, that our happi- 
 ness, even in this world, depends upon our being 
 in the path of duty, can I love you, and not 
 seek by every means in my power to lead you 
 into the path of true enjoyment ? You would be- 
 lieve how sincerely I desire this, if you knew how 
 dear you are, how dear you were to me before 
 you had ever bestowed a look upon me, but of 
 aversion and disgust. But, adieu, I must not in 
 my first letter tire you of your preaching, but 
 most truly attached, E. H. Dunallan." 
 
 Catharine had read Dunallan's letter several 
 times before she recollected that there was any 
 other being in existence. Mrs. Oswald inter- 
 rupted her thoughts by a request to return to 
 the house, to avoid the very heavy dew. Ca- 
 tharine kindly offered her arm to Mrs. Oswald. 
 *' You too have a letter, my dear madam." 
 
 " Yes, my love, a few lines," replied Mrs. Os- 
 wald, holding out the letter to her. 
 
 Catharine declined reading it. — " You must
 
 DUNALLAN. 209 
 
 not think me so curious, my dear Mrs. Oswald. 
 I shall be most happy to hear whatever you 
 choose from Mr. Dunallan's letters, but I wish 
 you always to read those passages to me yourself. 
 I shall now read a part of mine to you, which I 
 want your opinion of." She then read that pas- 
 sage, in which Dunallan supposed she had taken 
 his place in reading to the servants. 
 
 Mrs. Oswald smiled. — " This is rather cunning 
 I think." 
 
 " I think so too," replied Catharine, " but 
 should like if you, my dearest Mrs. Oswald, would 
 do as he wishes." 
 
 « Not I indeed," replied Mrs. Oswald. " He 
 very properly wishes you, my love, to act in his 
 absence as the head of his family ; but you must 
 consider, that if you begin this good custom, you 
 must carry it on. Should you suffer the fear of 
 ridicule to make you give it up when people are 
 here, you would, I fear, do more harm than read- 
 ing at other times would do good." 
 
 " I do not think the dread of ridicule would 
 deter me from doing any thing I thought right," 
 said Catharine. " I have never stood much in 
 awe of the opinions of others." 
 
 Mrs. Oswald smiled. — " Then, my dear, you 
 have only to determine whether Dunallan's is a 
 right wish."
 
 210 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " I can have no doubt of that," replied Catha- 
 rine, " since it is his." 
 
 " Ah ! you ought to have a better reason, my 
 dear." 
 
 " Well, it must be right to instruct the igno- 
 rant." 
 
 a 
 
 Yes, my love, and to see that those under 
 our care, which servants certainly are, have at 
 least an opportunity of hearing the divine truths 
 of revelation. We are all commanded to do good 
 to all as we have opportunity; surely our influence 
 cannot be so great any where as in our own 
 houses." 
 
 " Well, my dear Madam, this is settled ; and 
 to-morrow you shall take me to the village, and 
 to the schools. I must be able to answer Mr. 
 Dunallan's questions ; but you must direct me in 
 every thing, my dear Mrs. Oswald, for how can 
 I, so ignorant myself, attempt to instruct others ? 
 I know not what parts of Scripture are proper to 
 be read to servants." 
 
 " There are few parts which can be improper, 
 my love," replied Mrs. Oswald. " You will soon, 
 while informing yourself, discover what is most 
 instructive for others. Happily for the lower 
 classes, which constitute the largest portion of 
 society, it is the humble and unlearned who are 
 chiefly addressed in Scripture."
 
 DUNALLAN. 211 
 
 Catharine desired that she might be called very- 
 early next morning. Her ardent mind was now 
 bent on attempting every thing recommended by 
 Dunallan. She felt convinced that all his wishes 
 were for her real happiness ; and she took plea- 
 sure in the idea, that in his absence she might fit 
 herself to be the companion of this esteemed 
 friend. 
 
 Elizabeth's letter, though left unread for the 
 first time in her life, till she perused that of an- 
 other, gave Catharine the greatest pleasure. It 
 was written in unusually high spirits for Eliza- 
 beth ; and, after many playfully kind remarks on 
 the change of feelings with regard to Dunallan, 
 expressed in Catharine's letter, on her arrival at 
 Arnmore, concluded thus 
 
 " And now, my own Catharine, I must tell you 
 a secret, the only secret I ever concealed from my 
 first and dearest friend. You have often laughed 
 at my high-flown notions (as you called them,) of 
 the influence of real affection. Know then that I 
 spoke from experience, and that your friend has 
 been engaged in heart and promise for two years, 
 to a person whose name I believe never escaped 
 her lips in your hearing. You will naturally ask, 
 Why ? I answer, because I could only have given 
 you pain by the disclosure, as we were far too 
 poor to think of marrying for years. Mr. Mel-
 
 212 DUN ALLAN. 
 
 ville is the younger son of a family of very mode- 
 rate fortune ; he is a lawyer, and very clever ; but 
 for some years at the commencement of his pro- 
 fession, a lawyer very rarely makes any thing. 
 You know I had no fortune, and you will, I am 
 very certain, feel almost as happy as your friend, 
 when you find that your father's generosity to his 
 nephews and nieces has removed every obstacle 
 that stood in the way of my happiness ; and that 
 I so dearly love those who have thus obliged me, 
 that I love even to be under obligation. But I 
 must now introduce you to my dear and disinte- 
 rested Philip Melville, who in a time of such scar- 
 city of men, and of such men ! and a time of such 
 plenty of heiresses, chose to place his affections 
 on your portionless, and every way very mode- 
 rately gifted Elizabeth. But you are unacquaint- 
 ed with Melville, and cannot judge of my feelings 
 in the idea of never being separated from him. 
 The sweet castles I build when I picture myself 
 his wife, welcoming him home, after the studies 
 or business of the day, to his comfortable, (and I 
 mean to be) elegant, though moderate home : 
 exerting all my powers to amuse and please him, 
 which you know must always succeed ; his con- 
 versation and affection ; and his approbation of 
 all I do — my mother so happy in seemg me so — 
 my young brothers guided by Melville, whor
 
 DUNALLAN. 213 
 
 they already regard with love and esteem — the 
 holy days passed at Arnmore, and the dear inha- 
 bitants of Arnmore coming to us sometimes. — 
 Dear Catharine, are not my dreams very happy, 
 and not so romantic as to be impossible ?" 
 
 Elizabeth's letter was long, and expressed great 
 enjoyment. Catharine entered warmly into her 
 feelings, and for a time forgot every thing else. 
 Her last occupation before she retired to rest, 
 however, was another perusal of Dunallan's let- 
 ter. " Ah 1" thought she, when she had finished 
 it, " you have given me a rival in your affections, 
 Elizabeth, and perhaps you soon will have one in 
 mine !"
 
 214 DUN ALLAN. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Next morning Catharine started from her pillow 
 the moment she was called, and dressed with a 
 rapidity which seemed not a little to surprise 
 Martin, whom, when her toilet was finished, she 
 desired to inform Mrs. Scott the housekeeper, 
 that she wished the servants to be assembled at 
 the usual hour in the library. She then set her- 
 self to read the book which Dunallan had point- 
 ed out as the most proper to begin with, steadily 
 determining, that however tiresome she should 
 find the occupation, to read every thing he had 
 recommended with her whole attention. But 
 this book she found most interesting. It was ad- 
 dressed to the heart as well as to the understand- 
 ing. The subject was, the erroneous and unscrip- 
 tural nature of the opinions on religious subjects 
 generally prevalent among people in the higher 
 classes of society. Catharine, as she read, fek 
 the truth of every word, and she could scarcely 
 believe that she had been thus employed for 
 more than an hour, when Martin appeared to 
 say, that Mrs. Oswald and the servants were in
 
 DUNALLAN. 215 
 
 the library. Catharine felt humbler when she 
 entered the room where they were assembled 
 than she had ever done in her life before. She 
 felt conscious that she now assumed a character to 
 which she had no title, and blushing before she 
 began to read, she said, " I continue this cus- 
 tom because Mr. Dunallan wishes it. I hope we 
 shall all derive benefit and instruction. None 
 of you can require it more than I do." 
 
 Mrs. Scott was on all occasions easily moved 
 to tears ; her softness, on Catharine's saying this, 
 infected the other maids, so that her young lady 
 had a weeping audience. Catharine thought 
 their grief was occasioned by their master's ab- 
 sence, and by seeing his place filled by another. 
 When she had finished, and the servants were 
 retiring wiping their eyes, she desired Mrs. Scott 
 to remain a little. " You must not grieve so 
 much, my good Mrs. Scott," said she, " at Mr. 
 Dunallan's absence. Do you know we had let- 
 ters from him last night, and he is well ?" 
 
 " Oh ! " replied Mrs. Scott almost sobbing, 
 " I mourn indeed for Mr. Dunallan's absence, 
 but it is not grief but joy which makes me cry 
 now. I just thought I saw my own dear lady 
 again, when you ma'am sat down in the chair. She 
 used to look concerned as you did, ma'am, but 
 oh ! she had great cause. Her Mr. Dunallan fa-
 
 216 DUNALLAX. 
 
 voured nothing good, though he loved her so 
 much he could not cross her; but the servants 
 used to assemble here, and she used to read to 
 them, when he was gone a hunting ; and at night 
 before he and his gentlemen friends had left the 
 dining room. Oh ! I never thought I should see 
 this happy day ! Her son walking in her blessed 
 steps ; and you ma'am, brought up so different- 
 ly ; oh ! it is more than I can stand ; and she put 
 her hands to her face, and hurried out of the 
 room. Catharine was affected: " poor good 
 Mrs. Scott ! she does not know how little I de- 
 serve to be compared to any one so good." 
 
 So great was Catharine's impatience to see all 
 those places and arrangements which Dunallan 
 had committed to her care, that she thought 
 Mrs. Oswald would never have done with her 
 breakfast. At last she rose, and offered to ac- 
 company her young friend wherever she chose. 
 They proceeded first to the village. It was still 
 early. Catharine, however, was much pleased 
 with the clean and orderly appearance of the 
 cottages into which she was conducted by Mrs. 
 Oswald, and at the pleasure which the people 
 seemed to feel on seeing her. After having led 
 Catharine through the village, and visiting vari- 
 ous institutions of Dunallan's for the benefit of 
 the people and children ; schools, a library, &c.
 
 DUNALLAN. 217 
 
 all which were under the immediate care of the 
 clergyman of the parish, who was to report 
 the progress and success of each to Catharine; 
 Mrs. Oswald led her to another school for girls. 
 Catharine was delighted with the situation of 
 this school. It was apart from the village, in a 
 romantic spot on the banks of the lake, and sur- 
 rounded by wood on every side except that 
 which opened on the water. A sweet retired 
 path lay directly between it and the castle. 
 
 " This situation," said Mrs. Oswald, " was 
 chosen by Dunallan, in the hope that, whoever 
 the lady of Arnmore might be, she would take 
 this institution under her own peculiar and 
 watchful care. I hope you will fulfil his wishes, 
 my dear Catharine, and regard these interesting 
 young villagers as in some degree your own 
 children. The general rules only have been 
 acted upon, all particular regulations have been 
 left for you, my dear," continued Mrs. Oswald. 
 " I have found the charge very interesting, but 
 will be most happy to relinquish it to your 
 care; my health and my age make me unfit 
 for it." 
 
 Catharine wafe equally delighted with the inte- 
 rior of the school-house, and the healthy happy 
 looks of the children, who rose respectfully on 
 her entrance, and answered the questions she 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 DUNALLAN. 
 
 put to them with intelligence and civility, drop- 
 ping a grateful curtsey when she noticed them. 
 Catharine recollected the children at Dunallan 
 Castle, laymg about their cottage doors in com- 
 plete idleness, or running away to conceal them- 
 selves at her approach, or if bold enough to re- 
 main, answering with awkward shyness any thing 
 she said to them. But, thought she, they were 
 only taught to regard me as their superior, not 
 their friend and benefactress. She could have 
 staid here the whole day, she became so greatly 
 interested. She liked to hear the children re- 
 peat hymns, and parts of Scripture, and was de- 
 lighted with their eager desire to be permitted 
 to repeat them to her; and the pleasure their 
 countenances expressed when she praised their 
 performances. Mrs. Oswald at last reminded 
 her that the forenoon was far spent. 
 
 " Every child at Arnmore is taught to read," 
 said Mrs. Oswald, as they returned home, " and 
 the clergyman of the parish attends with the 
 most unremitting attention to their religious in- 
 struction. He is an excellent man, and is look- 
 ed up to by the whole parish. You will find 
 him anxious to second any plan you propose for 
 the benefit of your people." 
 
 " How many people are supposed to reside on 
 Mr. Dunallan s estate ?^ asked Catharine.
 
 DUNALLAN. 219 
 
 " About nine hundred, including a small fish- 
 ing town, at too great a distance for us to visit 
 to-day; but which Dunallan takes the same charge 
 of that he does of those places you have seen." 
 
 " Happy Arnmore !" exclaimed Catharine, 
 " Poor Dunallan Castle ! how much I ouffht to 
 feel ashamed when I recollect how its people 
 have been neglected. And now my father is en- 
 larging all his farms, and the poorer tenants are 
 emigrating to America, or wherever they can go. 
 Had I known that it was possible, or rather had I 
 taken the trouble to consider, I might have had 
 at Dunallan Castle such a village as that I have 
 just seen. The money which I gave without re- 
 flection to the unfortunate beings who were leav- 
 ing the estate, and whose grief I could not bear 
 to witness, would have defrayed every expense : 
 but I shall write my father immediately. How 
 happy should I be to see him interested in such 
 a plan." 
 
 Catharine was so busy all this day, she felt 
 quite fatigued when she retired for the night ; yet 
 her heart was light and gay. She had written 
 to her father, to Elizabeth, and to Dunallan. The 
 two first she had sealed up; but the last she left 
 to peruse once more. She was dissatisfied with 
 what she had written. It was too long — Dun- 
 allan's was not half so long — yet she had so much
 
 220 DUNALLAN. 
 
 to say — she read sentence by sentence, and de- 
 termined to change each ; but after these changes 
 were made, she thought her letter stiff and cold, 
 and at last decided to send that which she had 
 first written. 
 
 Next day she visited the fishing town, and other 
 more distant parts of the estate, and was ex- 
 tremely gratified by all she saw, the reception 
 she met with every where, and by the beautiful 
 scenery through which they had passed ; for many 
 of the cottages they had visited were far too dis- 
 tant for Mrs. Oswald, or even Catharine to have 
 walked to them. 
 
 " And what am I to do?" asked Catharine, as 
 they returned home ; " In what way, my dear 
 Mrs. Oswald, am I to make myself useful to all 
 these people ?" 
 
 " By knowing about them all, my dear Ca- 
 tharine, and by convincing them that you do, and 
 that you take an interest in their real happiness 
 and prosperity ; by your steadily discountenanc- 
 ing the unworthy, and approving of and assisting 
 the good ; by promoting the education of the 
 children — oh, by a thousand ways, my dear young 
 friend, particularly by carrying on those plans, 
 begun by Dunallan, which are yet too new to 
 succeed, unless they are fostered and protected 
 by you."
 
 DUNALLAN. 221 
 
 Catharine, after consulting with Mrs. Oswald, 
 laid down rules for the occupation of her time, 
 which she resolved to abide by until Dunallan\s 
 return. " For I shall not leave Arnmore till 
 then," said she ; " and whoever visits me, must 
 allow me to spend some of my time as I choose." 
 
 One week passed away, and she kept strictly 
 to all her rules, and felt interested and happy. 
 Mrs. Oswald she loved more dearly every day — 
 she appeared to her almost perfect, and her af- 
 fection was returned with interest. 
 
 " Ah, Catharine !" said Mrs. Oswald, one day 
 after an interesting conversation with her young 
 friend, " I feel I am making another idol of you. 
 I shall never learn to love with moderation." 
 
 The children too, were regarded by Catharine 
 with the tenderest affection ; and she felt the pur- 
 est enjoyment in leading their young and opening 
 minds to the admiration of all that was good and 
 beautiful. 
 
 She had another letter from Dunallan during 
 this week. — All that was kind. To Mrs. Oswald 
 he described his situation in London, and his fu- 
 ture intentions. He expected to set out on his 
 destination in a few days. To Catharine, he 
 wrote of herself, and of his own feelings. 
 
 " Your letter, my dearest Catharine, has al- 
 most relieved my mind from a load, which has
 
 222 DUNALLAN. 
 
 oppressed it ever since my unhappy arrival at your 
 Father's house. You request me so kindly, and 
 I cannot help feeling so sincerely, to believe you 
 when you say you are happy ; — you add so sweet- 
 ly, that you wish me to forget the past, as you are 
 beginning to do, that I feel satisfied you are at 
 least not unhappy. The future, I will allow my- 
 self to hope, will produce for you far brighter 
 days. You say you have read one of my books, 
 and are interested in our people. Dearest Ca- 
 tharine, I entreat you, in your ardour to do good, 
 not to forget your own health. You have under- 
 taken too much. I shall regret having requested 
 you to superintend my plans, if you expose your- 
 self to fatigue, which, I assure you, is unnecessary. 
 It is surprising how much influence a very small 
 degree of interest, expressed by a person in your 
 situation, has on your dependents. But I shall 
 say no more on this subject ; you know, my dear 
 Catharine, how much it would pain me to think 
 that I, in seeking a source of pleasure for you, had 
 loaded you with fatiguing occupations. 
 
 " You say, my dearest Catharine, that my aunt 
 has made you forget my absence, by talking to 
 you of my early days. She will, I fear, deceive 
 you. She will praise me, when, if you knew what 
 a proud and arrogant being I then wa^, and * the 
 course of sin,' which levelled me with the dust.
 
 BUNALLAN. 223 
 
 you would cease to regard me with the unmixed 
 esteem expressed in your sweetly frank letter. 
 Will you be undeceived, my dearest Catharine ? 
 You asked me once, how the human mind could 
 be brought, in the bustle of life, to be constantly 
 guided by the principles of religion. I promised 
 to explain this in my letters to you, as far as I 
 could. The truth is, that, to a mind awakened 
 from the delusive dreams of this world, religion 
 becomes not only the support and consolation, 
 but the source of its chief pleasures. I shall tell 
 you in my next letter, how far I have experienced 
 this myself; but the story is long, and I am too 
 impatient for your reply to delay my letter till 
 another post. You perceive, my Catharine, that 
 it is painful to me to appear to you what I really 
 am not. Your character is, I think, easily known ; 
 and therefore, in my eyes, the more amiable. 
 Men, from their intercourse with a world, where 
 most of those they meet with are indifferent about 
 them — where some wish to deceive, and others to 
 lead astray — acquire a power of concealing their 
 emotions, which gives them an unfair advantage 
 over women, who rarely in early life can conceal 
 theirs. I should wish you, my Catharine, to feel 
 certain that I have not this advantage over you. 
 The very suspicion of it must produce a degree 
 of reserve, which it is the wish of my heart to do
 
 224 DUNALLAN. 
 
 away. I am thus anxious to inspire you with 
 confidence in me, because I so earnestly wish you 
 to feel that friendship for me which I already feel 
 for you, and which cannot exist where we have 
 any doubt of our knowledge of the real charac- 
 ter. 
 
 "And now, my dearest of friends, I shall answer 
 the last part of your letter, in which you so inge- 
 nuously confess to me, that you cannot say you 
 like the first book I recommended to you, be- 
 cause every page of it condemns you. Your 
 thoughts — your wishes — your time — your influ- 
 ence — your fortune, have all been employed in 
 those pursuits considered by this writer as un- 
 worthy of a rational and immortal being : " and 
 yet," you add, " my life has been as innocent, and 
 as little shaded by great faults, as most others." 
 You nobly say, you will not affect a modesty in 
 speaking of yourself which you do not feel, when 
 the subject is one on which you really wish to 
 gain information ; and you naturally ask if we 
 must look on the greatest part of our fellow-crea- 
 tures as guilty in the sight of heaven, when most 
 of them feel so secure of being accepted there at 
 last ? I acknowledge the difficulty of answering 
 your question ; but it is equivalent to that which 
 was proposed long ago : " Are there few that be 
 saved ?" You, I dare say, remember the instruc-
 
 DUNALLAN. 225 
 
 tive answer of Him who said, " I am Truth." 
 The answer was, " Enter ye in at the strait 
 gate ; for narrow is the way which leadeth to ever- 
 lasting life, and few there be that find it." Though 
 my book does condemn you, my dearest Catha- 
 rine, I must agree with it, because I am sure it is 
 not stricter in what it requires, than that short 
 but comprehensive law, which demands that we 
 shall love our Creator, with all our hearts, and 
 our souls, and our minds, and our neighbours as 
 ourselves. I entreat you, Catharine, to use your 
 own excellent powers of mind to follow out the 
 meaning of those words, and you must be con- 
 vinced that my book cannot possibly require 
 more. Will you be displeased if I say, that I 
 take pleasure in your feeling of self-condemna- 
 tion ? I do indeed, my sweet friend, because I 
 know that, " the whole" do not feel their need of 
 the " Physician," but " the sick," and I wish you 
 to know the Physician of souls. I entreat you to 
 read on, and become acquainted with the Christ- 
 ian system. If you feel your heart become an 
 advocate for its truth, before your mind is inform- 
 ed, and your reason convinced, which, I think, 
 from your last letter, may be the case, I entreat 
 you not to cease reading what is addressed chief- 
 ly to your reason ; because an uninformed Christ- 
 ian in your rank of life, is exposed to having his
 
 226 DUNALLAN. 
 
 belief staggered very frequently, from his igno- 
 rance of those perfectly convincing answers which 
 have been given to the attacks of infidels, who 
 have in all ages attempted in vain to subvert a 
 religion so strict in its demands, and pure in its 
 precepts ; amongst those infidels there have been, 
 and still are, men of at least very great wit and 
 ingenuity. What a letter I have written ! but if 
 you knew the pleasure I feel after the business 
 and bustle of the day, in retiring to think of and 
 address you, I know you would not wish to 
 shorten this sweetest of enjoyments. Adieu, my 
 dear, my very dearest friend. 
 
 E. H. DuNALLAN.'' 
 
 Catharine studied every word of Dunallan's 
 letter with the deepest interest ; his wishes with 
 regard to herself she scarcely understood ; but 
 she determined to read attentivelv everv book 
 he recommended to her, and frankly avow to him 
 the impression they made on her mind. His ex- 
 treme openness with regard to himself, had fully 
 the effect he desired in gaining her confidence. 
 She felt ready to impart to him the most secret 
 thoughts of her heart. This desire to make her 
 acquainted with his very errors, rather than that 
 she should form a false and too high opinion of 
 him, though it gratified, yet startled her. She
 
 DUNALLAN. 227 
 
 had often been advised by her father, to avoid 
 seeking to know the preceding private life of the 
 man she married. " Let me, my dear child," he 
 would say, " be intrusted with making all neces- 
 sary inquiries respecting his character. You 
 cannot be a judge. An innocent, well-educated 
 young woman would never marry if she knew the 
 private history of most of the young men she sees ; 
 but we must take the world as we find it," he 
 would add laughing. " The noblest characters 
 have defects. An amiable, sweet-tempered, sen- 
 sible, affectionate wife will cure a man of all those 
 youthful errors ; but a prying, over-correct wife 
 is the devil." Catharine believed her father, and 
 looked on young men as privileged to be wicked 
 to a certain degree ; and regarded it as indelicate, 
 and disgustingly over-correct in her sex, to take 
 any concern how a young man spent his life in 
 private, provided he always acted honourably, 
 and as others did in society. Had Dunallan, then, 
 been particularly faulty ? She could not believe 
 this, because her father had assured her, that even 
 she might be satisfied with all he could learn re- 
 specting the morality of his early years, which 
 had been singularly spotless. Catharine replied 
 with perfect frankness to this part of Dunallan's 
 letter. She showed how much she valued his 
 confidence, but that she rather shrunk from the
 
 {i28 DUNALLAN. 
 
 proof of it, which he offered to give ; yet she wish- 
 ed to know about his college friend, and also the 
 nature of the^change which had taken place in his 
 own mind. " But do not, my dear friend," she 
 wrote, " gratify my curiosity, if doing so can re- 
 cal one painful circumstance."
 
 DUNALLAN. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Catharine's life, for the first fortnight after 
 Dunallan's departure, was wholly devoted to those 
 pursuits she had begun at his request ; and every 
 day, as her information increased, and her con- 
 versations with Mrs. Oswald made her more ac- 
 quainted with the opinions and sentiments con- 
 sidered, by that lady and Dunallan, necessary to 
 constitute the character of a real Christian, she 
 became more convinced that they were right. To 
 Mrs. Oswald she confided every difficulty and 
 doubt of her own mind ; while, according to Dun- 
 allan's wish, she persevered in making herself ac- 
 quainted with what he esteemed the Christian 
 system ; and in Mrs. Oswald she found the ten- 
 derness of a mother united to the sincerity of a 
 friend, equally capable from natural talent, infor- 
 mation, and experience, to assist and enlighten 
 her young, but strong and candid mind. Catha- 
 rine felt Dunallan's absence ; she also thought 
 with pain of the solitary situation of her father, 
 yet she was now so constantly occupied, and
 
 230 DUNALLAN. 
 
 pleased, and interested, that she dreaded any in- 
 terruption to her new pursuits, and feU quite an- 
 noyed on being informed, one forenoon, on her 
 return from visiting her school, that a lady had 
 just arrived. Catharine did not inquire who the 
 lady was, but hurrying to her room, gave way to 
 the impatience of the moment. Some of our 
 troublesome country neighbours at last, thought 
 she, what a plague ! she rung for Martin. 
 
 " What lady is here, Martin ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Williams, Ma'am." 
 
 " Mrs. Williams ! Ah, I rejoice to hear it. '"* 
 
 " She is indeed a very sweet looking lady, 
 Ma'am. Mrs. Oswald sent for me to ask where 
 you were. Ma'am. She wished me to go for you, 
 but Mrs. Williams would not suffer you to be in- 
 terrupted." 
 
 Catharine felt herself half afraid, yet longed to 
 see this Mrs. Williams, so much esteemed by 
 Dunallan. An apprehension of inferiority was, 
 however, still painful to Catharine ; and though 
 she struggled against this proud feeling, yet her 
 raised head, and half cold expression as she en- 
 tered the room where Mrs. Williams was, gave 
 an air of formal politeness to her address, rather 
 than the real pleasure she felt at meeting her. 
 Mrs. Williams's manner was very mild, and per- 
 fectly easy.
 
 DUNALLAN. 231 
 
 " We have been talking of you, my dear Ca- 
 tharine," said Mrs. Oswald. 
 
 Catharine blushed. " Then I regret having 
 interrupted your conversation," replied she, " for 
 I am very sensible of the advantage of a favour- 
 able impression having been given before ac- 
 quaintance commences." 
 
 " And are you so certain, Catharine, of my 
 giving a favourable impression of you ?" 
 
 " I believe so." 
 
 Mrs. Williams smiled, but said nothing. There 
 was something in her appearance that at once ex- 
 cited both respect and interest. She was hand- 
 some, as far as a graceful figure, very fine eyes, 
 and a charming smile could make one so ; but an 
 air of thoughtfulness, and the very smile, which, 
 engaging as it was, seemed more from politeness 
 than feeling, conveyed an idea of superiority to 
 trifles, and to trifling compliments, which was the 
 rather pleasing, because the whole turn of her ex- 
 pressive countenance bore the same elevated 
 character. " Mrs. Oswald has told me how you 
 were employed, Mrs. Dunallan," said she ; " and 
 that you feel yourself interested in sucli occupa- 
 
 tions." 
 
 " I do indeed; and hope I shall continue to 
 feel myself so." 
 
 " Oh no ! do not expect that," replied Mrs. 
 Williams ; " you must prepare yourself for dis-
 
 232 , DUN ALLAN. 
 
 appointment, that when you meet witli it, you 
 may not be disgusted, and tempted to give up all 
 your useful employments. I have often been on 
 the verge of doing so." 
 
 " I might very easily be tempted to do so," 
 replied Catharine, " for I am not very patient; 
 but I did not undertake these occupations from 
 any expectation of pleasure or amusement, or 
 even interest. Mr. Dunallan taught me to regard 
 them as a duty, and I still expect I shall have to 
 struggle with my natural aversion to the restraint 
 of regular employment : hitherto, however, I have 
 found myself more interested than I imagined I 
 should be, more, indeed, than I ever was before 
 in any pursuit ; because the end at which I wish 
 to aim is so much nobler." 
 
 " True," replied Mrs. Williams, looking much 
 pleased ; " but still I cannot help fearing you 
 may find many things both disappointing and 
 provoking in your endeavours to improve your 
 people; the parents of the children even, are 
 such impediments to their improvement, that at 
 times one feels quite discouraged." 
 
 " Mrs. Oswald had prepared me so well to ex- 
 pect that," said Catharine, " that I have been 
 surprised at my success. I have made many new 
 rules, to every one of which the parents of my 
 children have acceded without any difficulty."
 
 DUNALLAN. 233 
 
 - '' Really ?" said Mrs. Williams, smiling, " you 
 must have some secret way of charming them to 
 do your pleasure." 
 
 Catharine described all she liad done in the 
 most animated language ; and so deeply was she 
 occupied in conversing on such subjects, that 
 time passed away unobserved. Mrs. Oswald and 
 Mrs. Williams became equally interested, and 
 when, after a very long conversation, the latter 
 rose to take leave, Catharine found she still had 
 so much to inquire about, and to say, that she 
 earnestly and affectionately pressed her to re- 
 main until the next day. Mrs. Williams, who, 
 Catharine felt, returned the interest she excited, 
 was easily persuaded to comply with a request 
 urged so evidently from the heart. 
 
 Catharine found Mrs. Williams's society sin- 
 gularly pleasing. She seemed to guess what 
 subjects would be most interesting, and continued 
 to turn the conversation constantly to them, while 
 her evident feeling of interest, and her confiding 
 manner to Catharine, completely succeeded in 
 gaining her confidence. Mrs. Williams talked 
 of Dunallan, and of his singular opinions, which 
 she avowed were also her own. She spoke of 
 him with more than esteem, with the deepest 
 gratitude, and explained its cause. He had been 
 the friend of her husband, and had watched him
 
 234 DUNALLAN. 
 
 in his last illness with the tenderness of a bro- 
 ther ; he had been the means of making his 
 death-bed a scene of peace and triumph. He 
 had been her own friend, when left a widow and 
 wretched. He was the guardian of her children, 
 and such a guardian ! 
 
 Catharine listened with delight to the praises 
 of Dunallan, and Mrs. Williams, though unable 
 from emotion, at times to proceed, seemed de- 
 termined to make her acquainted with her hus- 
 band's and her own obligations to him, and with 
 that unwearied and tenderly benevolent part of 
 his character which her misfortunes had brought 
 to her knowledge. Catharine wept with her, and 
 Mrs. Williams's countenance brightened through 
 her tears when she saw the impression her story 
 had made. 
 
 Next morning Mrs. Williams took leave, after 
 receiving the willing promise of an early visit 
 from Catharine. 
 
 Many of the neighbouring families had now 
 called at Arnmore; but, though Catharine saw 
 that they easily would have been prevailed on to 
 Jengthen their visits, none of them except Mrs. 
 W^illiams had so far interested or pleased her as 
 to inspire a wish that they should. 
 
 One evening a party arrived whom Catharine 
 was not a little surprised to see. Mrs. St. Clair
 
 DUNALLAN. 235 
 
 and her son. She could not conceive why the 
 latter should choose so soon to visit her after what 
 had passed, and particularly in Dunallan's ab- 
 sence. She felt displeased, and received him 
 with extreme coldness. Mrs. St. Clair she at- 
 tempted to meet as an old friend, but did not 
 succeed ; and she often wished, as the evening 
 passed heavily on, that she had invited some of 
 her morning visitors to remain. 
 
 St. Clair attempted to appear cheerful. He 
 told Catharine that he was just going abroad, 
 and that he could not prevail on himself to leave 
 the country, perhaps for years, without once 
 again seeing one of his earliest friends. Catha- 
 rine only bowed. An angry glow crossed St. 
 Clair's brow, but he said nothing. Catharine 
 had known him from her childhood, however, and 
 was well acquainted with the expression of his 
 countenance. She soon perceived that he was 
 narrowly scanning hers, and was aware that he 
 had now come to discover whether she was as 
 unhappy as she knew his late disappointment 
 from her made him wish her to be. His mother, 
 she had no doubt, partook of her son's feelings. 
 
 Catharine expected a letter from Dunallan this 
 evening ; she almost wished it might not arrive ; 
 and she shrunk, as the hour of prayers approach- 
 ed, from the idea of the ridicule which her care
 
 236 DUN ALLAN. 
 
 of her servants would excite in the minds of Mrs. 
 St. Clair and her son. The usual post hour, 
 however, passed, and no letter arrived from 
 Dunallan. Catharine felt relieved, but disap- 
 pointed ; and her endeavours to converse cheer- 
 fully with her guests, which had hitherto suc- 
 ceeded only in part, now gave place to absent 
 thoughtfulness. Mrs. Oswald attempted to sup- 
 ply her place, but all she said was received with 
 such uncivil coldness, that, after several good- 
 natured, but fruitless endeavours, to overcome the 
 prejudice and dislike with which Mrs. St. Clair 
 seemed to regard her, she gave up the attempt, 
 and turned to Catharine; 
 
 " Our messenger has probably been detained 
 to-night, my dear," said she, observing the sad- 
 ness which now began to steal over the expres- 
 sive countenance of her young friend ; " you 
 know he often is. We shall have our letters to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 " I only hoped for letters, I did not quite expect 
 them to-night, my dear Madam," answered Ca- 
 tharine, smiling sweetly in reply to the tenderly 
 affectionate manner of Mrs. Oswald's address, so 
 unlike that of her proud and gloomy guests. A 
 pause in the conversation ensued. St. Clair 
 looked earnestly at Catharine, as if to read in
 
 DUNALLAN. 237 
 
 her countenance from whence she expected those 
 longed for letters. 
 
 " I hear your friend Elizabeth is just going to 
 be married to one of the young Melvilles," said 
 Mrs. St. Clair. " I suppose you hear frequently 
 from her on the eve of such an event." 
 
 " Very frequently," replied Catharine ; but 
 she did not pursue this subject, for Mrs. St. Clair 
 had always seemed to dislike Elizabeth. 
 
 Another pause followed, and of such long con- 
 tinuance, that Catharine at last, scarcely know- 
 ing what she said, asked St. Clair if he had been 
 acquainted with Mr. Walderford at college ? 
 
 " I was," replied he ; " he was then supposed 
 to possess very superior talents, and great expec- 
 tations were formed respecting him, until he chose 
 to adopt a set of enthusiastic notions, which now, 
 I believe, I must not mention with disrespect in 
 your presence, Catharine — Mrs. Dunallan, I 
 mean: pardon me." He did seem to revolt at 
 the new appellation. " I must confess, however," 
 continued he, " that I have rather avoided Wal- 
 derford since he became so singular." 
 
 " Did you value his acquaintance before that 
 time ?" asked Catharine. 
 
 " Extremely ; every one did. He had the 
 clearest head of any young man at the university, 
 and the quickest penetration into character, with
 
 238 DUNALLAN. 
 
 the most kind and affectionate of hearts, joined 
 to an uncommon share of humour and talent for 
 society, notwithstanding his natural reserve. 
 Every one loved and respected him. Poor Wal- 
 derford !" continued St. Clair, " it was most un- 
 like his knowledge of mankind, and his usual 
 good sense, to make known his adoption of such 
 opinions ; he might at least have confined them 
 to his own breast."''' 
 
 " But can such opinions be concealed, my 
 dear Sir ?" asked Mrs. Oswald, in her quick 
 way. 
 
 " Why not, Madam? are we not forced at 
 
 times to confine far more powerful " St. Clair 
 
 hesitated, " we must learn to 1 know men 
 
 who have singular opinions on many subjects," 
 continued he, recovering himself, " who never 
 talk of them but in . confidence. I have notions 
 myself on that very subject, religion, which are 
 perhaps quite as singular, though very different 
 from Walderford's ; but why shock people by 
 constantly avowing our heresies from common 
 opinion ? I believe," continued St. Clair, " every 
 man who thinks at all must form some opinion 
 on that subject; but as those opinions are of im- 
 portance only to himself, I think he is mad if he 
 exposes himself to universal ridicule and con- 
 tempt, by attaching such importance to a set of
 
 DUNALLAN. 239 
 
 dogmas, and acting upon them with the blind 
 zeal and self-satisfaction which seems to inspire 
 poor Walderford." 
 
 " But what is there in those opinions which 
 really ought to shock any one ?" asked Catha- 
 rine. " You said, Mr. St. Clair, that to me you 
 must not now mention them with disrespect ; I 
 suppose from their similarity to those ascribed to 
 Mr. Dunallan. I confess it does pain me to hear 
 them mentioned with disrespect; and allow me 
 to add, that I am sure, if you were really ac- 
 quainted with those opinions, and still more with 
 their effects on those who adopt them, you would 
 describe them in gentler terms." 
 
 " They are opinions very shocking to common 
 sense at least," said Mrs. St. Clair. " Mr. Wal- 
 derford's opinions, I mean." 
 
 " I beg pardon," said young St. Clair, " for 
 having used such harsh expressions. I have lit- 
 tle knowledge of Mr. Dunallan's notions on any 
 subject; but the opinions I mean, though they 
 are gaining ground in society, or, at least, are ac- 
 quiring an ascendency over a certain class of 
 minds, shrink from the examinations of reason 
 and philosophy." 
 
 " I believe," said Mrs. Oswald mildly, " that 
 it is an allowed maxim amongst philosophers, that 
 the supporters of any system ought to be permit-
 
 240 DUNALLAN. 
 
 ted to state their own opinions. Now, in this 
 case, you must allow me at least to correct your 
 statement, Mr. St. Clair. The advocates for the 
 opinions you have mentioned do not shrink from 
 the tribunals of reason and philosophy, from a 
 dread of their award ; but they say that reason or 
 philosophy are of no value until they are englight- 
 ened by that revelation which declares the natu- 
 ral reason and wisdom of man to be foolishness, 
 and his philosophy vanity. The supporters of 
 those opinions therefore regard reason, when it 
 discards revelation as its guide, as an ignis fatuus, 
 a light that leads astray ; and philosophy as an 
 unmeaning, though imposing word." 
 
 " You are right. Madam," replied St. Clair 
 warmly, " I did state the case unfairly ; those 
 opinions do set reason and philosophy at defi- 
 ance ; and the weakest blockhead who adopts 
 them, immediately thinks himself superior to, and 
 fitted to instruct the wisest of his fellow men. 
 This is one of the many disgusting features of the 
 system," added St. Clair, rising abruptly and 
 walking towards a window, desiring apparently 
 to put an end to the subject. 
 
 " You must allow me to say one word," re- 
 plied Mrs. Oswald. " The defect you mention 
 cannot, with a shadow of fairness, be ascribed to
 
 DUNALLAN. 2il 
 
 the system, because its very character and essence 
 is humility." 
 
 St. Clair remained silent, and another pause in 
 the conversation followed. The evening was 
 beautiful ; and, though late, Catharine proposed 
 walking. 
 
 " We have many charmino; walks here," said 
 
 t/ CD ' 
 
 she, turning to St. Clair, (who remained at the 
 window,) and directing her eyes to the scenery be- 
 low. 
 
 He looked in the same direction for a moment, 
 then turned away. He seemed to hate its beau- 
 ty. 
 
 " You used to admire this part of the day, and 
 like to walk at sunset, Mr. St. Clair," said Ca- 
 tharine, in a voice less cold than that in which 
 she had hitherto addressed him. 
 
 He appeared softened fOr a moment, then said, 
 turning gloomily away, " I used to like and ad- 
 mire many things which I must not now trust 
 myself to look at. Sunset is one." 
 
 Catharine felt his meaning, and reproached 
 herself for having said anything to produce such 
 a reply. She turned to Mrs. St. Clair, and again 
 resumed her endeavours to find some topic of 
 conversation that might excite her interest ; but 
 her attempts for some time were unsuccessful : 
 the subjects at least on which Catharine chose to 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 U2 DUNALLAN. 
 
 converse had no interest for Mrs. St. Clair, and 
 those into which she would eagerly have entered 
 were studiously avoided by Catharine. At last 
 she recollected that Mrs. St. Clair was engaged 
 in superintending the erection of a magnificent 
 mansion at her beautiful isle, and she easily suc- 
 ceeded in leading her to talk of it. Mrs. Oswald, 
 who never was idle, when she saw that young St. 
 Clair determined to remain silent, employed her- 
 self busily at her work. St. Clair stood with his 
 back to the window, and his eyes either fixed in 
 deep thought on the carpet, or raised to Catha- 
 rine, with an expression that betrayed the sub- 
 ject of his contemplations. He looked miserable, 
 and his uneasiness seemed to increase the longer 
 he indulged in thought. 
 
 Catharine continued to listen to Mrs. St. Clair, 
 and, at her request, began to sketch the plan of 
 a gothic window for the hall of her new house. 
 
 " Oh ! that is quite beautiful," exclaimed Mrs. 
 St. Clair, when she had finished it, " Look, Ar- 
 thur, is not this much more perfect than any of 
 those in our plans ? but you have lost all interest 
 in the house now," said she reproachfully, as he 
 slowly advanced from the window, " you are most 
 unaccountably changeable, Arthur. Is it not 
 
 beautiful ?" 
 
 2
 
 DUNALLAN. 243 
 
 a 
 
 Beautiful, indeed ! Shall I preserve the sketch 
 for you, Madam ?" 
 
 A servant at this moment appeared. Catha- 
 rine knew it was to announce the hour of prayers. 
 Mrs. Oswald said, " very well, John;" and the 
 servant left the room. 
 
 " Do fix the sketch, Mr. St. Clair," said Ca- 
 tharine, placing drawing materials before him. 
 " I must leave you for a short time, Madam," 
 added she, turning to Mrs. St. Clair, and a good 
 deal embarrassed. But meeting Mrs. Oswald's 
 look of anxious concern, and recollecting the con- 
 tempt with which she had treated the fears of that 
 good lady, lest she should be deterred from duty 
 by the dread of ridicule, she recovered her com- 
 posure, and said, in a calm tone of voice, " Mr. 
 Dunallan thinks it proper that his servants should 
 have the scriptures read to them daily, and, in 
 his absence, I have undertaken, directed by Mrs. 
 Oswald, to continue this custom." 
 
 Mrs. St. Clair and her son looked at each 
 other. " Do you not admit your friends to the 
 benefit of your instructions ?" asked Mrs. St. 
 Clair. 
 
 " I do not pretend to instruct," replied Ca- 
 tharine, mildly ; " but Mrs. Oswald has convin- 
 ced me that the attempt at informing our servants 
 is a duty. I merely read a portion of scripture
 
 244 DUN ALLAN. 
 
 and a short explanation ; and as I am convinced 
 of its being a duty, I must not be deterred by 
 ridicule from performing it." 
 
 " No one certainly could be so cruel as to ri- 
 dicule any thing defended so " St. Clair 
 
 proceeded thus far, and then stopt. " Will you 
 not admit us ?" asked he. 
 
 " You must excuse me," replied Catharine, 
 " were Mr. Dunallan at home, I should entreat 
 you to join us." 
 
 St. Clair turned away in displeasure. When 
 Mrs. Oswald and Catharine returned, they found 
 Mrs. St. Clair and her son looking gloomier than 
 before. There was a sweet calmness and eleva- 
 tion in the expression of Catharine's countenance, 
 however, and a dignified and cheerful composure 
 in Mrs. Oswald's, which commanded their re- 
 spect; and by degrees they were restored to an 
 apparently happier state of feeling. 
 
 Catherine felt greatly relieved, when Mrs. St. 
 Clair declared her intention of going next day. 
 She would have concealed her satisfaction, but 
 saw by the angry expression of St. Clair's coun- 
 tenance that he had perceived it. She felt ex- 
 tremely displeased, however, at the freedom with 
 which he continued to watch her every word and 
 look ; and the cold calmness of her eye when she
 
 DUNALLAN. 2t5 
 
 addressed him, seemed to recal to him the re- 
 membrance of her situation. 
 
 Next morning at breakfast, a very large packet 
 was brought to Catharine ; she observed the post- 
 mark , and became very pale. St. Clair 
 
 seemed to understand the cause, and it darkened 
 his brow. 
 
 " No wonder such letters should be longed 
 for," said he, contemptuously, but bitterly, and 
 looking at its size. 
 
 " Certainly not," replied she, " when the con- 
 tents too are always even more interesting than 
 they are expected to be." 
 
 St. Clair's eye flashed ; but for a moment he 
 was silent, then said with forced calmness, " You 
 have convinced me at last, Madam, that your sex 
 possesses one virtue, which I have hitherto been 
 such an infidel as to doubt; that of becoming 
 moulded into new habits and new feelings, and 
 new affections, with a facility almost incompre- 
 hensible, and in proportion," added he, sarcasti- 
 cally, " to the dislike and contempt with which 
 they formerly viewed those habits, and those ob- 
 jects which they afterwards value." 
 
 " You ought rather, from my experience, to be 
 convinced of an unhappy defect in my sex," re- 
 plied Catharine, " that of allowing prejudice to 
 take such complete possession of the mind, that
 
 246 DUNALLAN. 
 
 nothing less than a superiority in every thing, 
 almost more than human, can overcome it." 
 
 St. Clair bit his lip. Catharine had looked 
 calmly and fixedly at him while she spoke, and 
 the effect of what she had said on the expression 
 of his countenance almost frightened her ; but his 
 reflection on Dunallan had roused her spirit, and 
 she now longed for an opportunity of honouring 
 him in the presence of those contemptuous St. 
 Clairs. 
 
 ' " Pray, read your letter. Madam," said Mrs. 
 St. Clair. " I beg we may not for a moment 
 prevent your enjoying that pleasure." 
 
 Catharine only bowed, and then broke the 
 seal. She looked at the date, then at the con- 
 clusion, but that was too kind to be read in such 
 company; tears filled her eyes, tears that she 
 saw were observed, but she cared not. She fold- 
 ed up her letter, and laid it by her, and tlien at- 
 tempted to converse with Mrs. St. Clair ; but 
 her thoughts wandered to her letter, and it was 
 with great pleasure she heard Mrs. St. Clair's 
 carriage announced, and saw her soon after de- 
 part with her haughty and disappointed son. 
 
 Catharine embraced Mrs. Oswald with un- 
 usual tenderness ; " you have seen a specimen of 
 my friends, my dearest Madam," said she, " and
 
 DUNALLAN. 247 
 
 I have had many such. You see how sincerely 
 they wish for my happiness." 
 
 " But you must have some excuse for this lady, 
 my dear," replied Mrs. Oswald, " I see how mat- 
 ters stand ; you have disappointed her dearest 
 hopes and favourite plans, and her son's also. 
 Ah ! my dear Catharine, you may be very thank- 
 ful that the singularly pleasing exterior of that 
 young man did not engage your youthful affec- 
 tions ; he could not have made you happy. But 
 adieu for a little, my love; I see you are im- 
 patient to read your letter." 
 
 Catharine shut herself up in her room, and 
 was soon completely absorbed. Dunallan's let? 
 ter consisted of many sheets closely written. 
 
 " Each succeeding letter from you, my dearest 
 Catharine, confirms me in the idea I had formed 
 of your character, and strengthens the hope that 
 I shall soon see you become all I could wish. 
 You are right, my sweet friend, in your supposi- 
 tion, that kindly as I express my interest in you, 
 and kindly — tenderly as I feel for you, there is 
 yet a want, a defect in your character which I 
 have never clearly expressed. I will tell you my 
 reason, because, until I received your last letter, 
 I did not suppose you would have understood 
 my meaning. I see you look surprised ; but, my 
 dear Catharine, had I said to you the week be-
 
 248 DUN ALL AN. 
 
 fore we left Dunallan Castle, that you were igno- 
 rant of the true nature of religion, would you not 
 have repelled the charge, and regarded me as a 
 gloomy bigotted enthusiast, as your friends did ? 
 I would not now say this of you, my dearest Ca- 
 tharine, though my opinion was not greatly chan- 
 ged, until I received your last (to me precious) 
 letter, which proves to me that you begin to feel 
 that humbling sense of your natural disrelish of 
 what true religion requires, which I think must 
 be felt before we can at all appreciate the Christ- 
 ian system. You have discovered the difference 
 between the religion of the imagination, and that 
 of the heart and understanding. You are con- 
 vinced that the former is of no value, and that 
 the last is absolutely necessary ; but your under- 
 standing feels its weakness in attempting to com- 
 prehend the doctrines, and your heart its oppo- 
 sition to the strict and spiritual precepts of the 
 New Testament — and this pains you. What will 
 you think of my affection for you, my Catharine, 
 when I say, that I hope this pain may increase? 
 I wish I could bear it for vou, but that is im- 
 possible. If by this means you are to be brought 
 into the fold, the Shepherd of the flock alone can 
 carry on his own process in your mind. Watch 
 its progress, my dear Catharine, and seek to 
 know more of his character who has vour heart
 
 DUNALLAN. 2i9 
 
 in his hand. Study his gracious promises to the 
 young, and to all who really wish to devote them- 
 selves to his service. Study his precepts, and 
 attempt to perform all he demands. You will 
 every moment feel your inability, and thus your 
 humble opinion of yourself will increase : the 
 more it does so, the more are you fitted to value 
 that religion, which is suited to those only who 
 feel truly, experimentally, that in themselves they 
 are lost. Fear not to tread this lowly path, my 
 dear Catharine, for it leads to the purest, the 
 most exalted happiness ; because it leads us to 
 seek it from Him who is its source, and whom 
 an hopeless sense of our natural unfitness to love 
 and serve as he demands, leads us to regard as 
 our only Saviour, our strength, our light, our 
 peace, our all. But I say too much — now you 
 will not understand me. Oh ! that you did, my 
 beloved Catharine. 
 
 " You wish to know, my dear Catharine, what 
 led me to adopt the principles which now influ- 
 ence me. You wish also to know more of my 
 college friend, in whom my aunt has greatly in- 
 terested you ; " but not," you sweetly add, " if 
 recalling any thing that is past would give me 
 pain." It cannot pain me to recal his idea : it is, 
 indeed, seldom long absent from my thoughts, 
 and it would add to my happiness, my dear
 
 $50 DUNALLAN. 
 
 Catharine, if I could interest you in the me- 
 mory of the being on earth whom I have loved 
 most, and have been most indebted to. You 
 shrink, most naturally shrink, from the knowledge 
 of that miserable course of sin, which marked a 
 part, thank heaven, a short part of my youth ; 
 but you may trust me. I am not oije of those 
 who imagine a young and inexperienced mind 
 can in any way be benefited by becoming ac- 
 quainted with the secrets of wickedness ; and to 
 you, my dearest Catharine ! you, of whose deli- 
 cacy I consider myself the guardian ! But no 
 more of this — forgive even so much. What I 
 wish is this — to convince you of the utter inca- 
 pacity of the human heart to be truly moral. 
 Temptations may differ, and lead to different re- 
 sults, but none can ever comprehend what pure 
 morality is without aid from heaven, without a 
 revelation, and the power to understand it. I 
 am willing to give you myself as an example of 
 this incapacity, not because I think I was better 
 disposed than others, but because I am better 
 acquainted with what has passed in my own heart; 
 and because I began life with an high aim, and 
 an high opinion of man's moral capacity. I do 
 feel half ashamed, however, to commence my own 
 historian, and almost shrink from the fulfilment 
 of my promise ; but I cannot otherwise make you
 
 DUNALLAN. «51 
 
 acquainted with my friend, or describe the power 
 of his mind over mine, or the change of my own. 
 Dear Catharine, I wish I could give you an idea 
 of the interest I feel in your real happiness while 
 I write, — in your soul's happiness, that immortal 
 soul, which has been placed by heaven in some 
 degree in my charge, and which must be pre- 
 pared during the short period of life, for an ex- 
 istence that shall never end ! But no more of 
 this, lest I should disgust instead of convincing you. 
 " I believe, my dear Catharine, you know that 
 I was- peculiarly happy in a mother. During her 
 life, as even / then knew, my education was a 
 continual cause of difference of opinion between 
 her and my father ; yet so gently did she differ 
 from him, and on every other thing she was so 
 sweetly yielding, that, except on one point, she 
 generally directed all my concerns. That one 
 point was religion. My mother's opinions on 
 that subject were disagreeable to my father in 
 the extreme, and he was determined that I should 
 not imbibe them. My mother would have pre- 
 ferred an home education during early youth : 
 my father considered a large school most suited 
 to develop and strengthen the character of a boy. 
 As my home did not promise those virtuous ex- 
 amples which are the chief advantage of a private 
 education, my mother at last consented to part
 
 252 DUNALLAN. 
 
 with me, on my father's yielding to her wish, that 
 I might be placed where there were only a small 
 number of boys. My father, however, chose my 
 tutor ; and the gentleman on whom he fixed had 
 every requisite excepting the one most valued, by 
 my mother. He was a man of superior talents ; 
 a deep and elegant scholar, with a taste singu- 
 larly refined and cultivated ; he had also lived 
 much in the world, and his manners were ex- 
 tremely polished. My companions in this gen- 
 tleman's house were a limited number of boys, 
 sons of some of the first families in the country. 
 With such a tutor, who devoted himself to the 
 improvement of his pupils, and with a natural in- 
 clination for those pursuits most valued by him, 
 my progress was so rapid as very soon to gain 
 me a high place in his favour. It was also my 
 nature, to desire ardently to be loved by those 
 around me, and I easily gained the affections of 
 my young companions. When I visited home I 
 was caressed by every one. My father, I per- 
 ceived, regarded me as his pride and hope. My 
 mother's affection for me seemed increased by my 
 absence from home. She attempted, however, 
 with the most solicitous tenderness, to convince 
 me that no mental acquirements, no personal 
 accomplishments, no degree of the esteem, or 
 love, or admiration of others, were of any value
 
 DUNALLAN. 253 
 
 without religion. She said, they were snares 
 to foster pride and delude the soul. I listen- 
 ed to her, because I loved, and could not give 
 her pain ; but my tutor was a Deist, and I 
 had learned from him to consider all systems 
 of religion, in short, all religion excepting that 
 of nature, as priestcraft and deception, suited 
 only to trammel weak and ignorant minds. I 
 remained with my tutor till I went to college. 
 You can hardly, my dear Catharine, conceive 
 a being more ignorant of the world, and human 
 nature as it really is, than I then was. My 
 companions and myself, while with our tutor, 
 lived almost apart from all other society ; and his 
 kindness, and pleasant method of conveying in- 
 struction, joined to the elevated tone of morality, 
 and high sense of honour which he inculcated, 
 led us to love and esteem him so warmly, that 
 even during our visits at home, which at his re- 
 quest were very short, we still acted as if under 
 his eye. Several of us went at the same time to 
 college, our heads filled with learning, and our 
 hearts glowing with admiration of the characters 
 of antiquity — their patriotism, their eloquence, 
 and, I may add, their pride; and turning with 
 contempt from all the humbler virtues — virtues 
 which Christianity in its precepts, and the com- 
 mon realities of life, teach us to regard as most 
 valuable. At this time I lost my mother, and her
 
 254 DUNALLAN. 
 
 death first taught me the insufficiency of the theo- 
 ries of philosophy to overcome, or even to soften 
 real grief. But time did what they could not do ; 
 and the affectionate cares of my young friends 
 drew me again into those studies and pursuits 
 for which I had lost all relish. My ambition to 
 excel returned. I again laboured for distinction, 
 and soon succeeded in obtaining a reputation al- 
 most equal to my desires. My father had early 
 taught me to regard the senate of my country as 
 the proper place for the emplojonent of my talents 
 and acquirements ; and, above all, where I might 
 distinguish myself most conspicuously. I soon 
 found that he was right. All the young men of 
 family at college who were remarkable for talent, 
 were taught to prepare for the same destination. 
 Eloquence became one of my favourite pursuits. 
 I studied all its masters with ardent attention, 
 and cultivated every exterior grace. I also, with 
 the permission of my superiors, prevailed on some 
 of my numerous friends at college to meet toge- 
 ther, for the purpose of improving and exhibiting 
 our powers of elocution ; and this meeting soon 
 became the favourite recreation of all the young 
 men most distinguished for talent at the univer- 
 sity. We invited all our college friends who 
 chose to attend, and to give their opinions on the 
 subjects in debate.
 
 DUNALLAN. 255 
 
 " One evening as I declaimed on a favourite 
 subject, and was listened to with eager attention 
 and frequent bursts of applause, I remarked one 
 striking and unknown countenance opposite to 
 me, which did not join in the general expression 
 of approbation. There was something in this 
 countenance which attracted me so forcibly, that 
 my eyes continually returned to it ; but I finished 
 my declamation, and returned to my seat amidst 
 thunders of applause, without having received 
 one mark of admiration from him. His eye, 
 however, followed me, and he half rose as if to 
 speak, but another young man got up, and he re- 
 sumed his seat. I immediately called on the 
 stranger, as I had seen him half up before the 
 other rose ; but he seemed to wish to decline 
 speaking, until called on by half the assembly. 
 A blush glowed for a moment on his fine but 
 pale countenance, and for the few first words he 
 hesitated ; but, soon recovering himself, his low 
 and harmonious voice, and beautiful language, 
 instantly arrested every one's attention ; and then 
 the strikingly clear, though simple arguments, by 
 which he proved that all I had said was mere 
 sophistry, extorted applause even from those who 
 were so warmly attached to me, that they would 
 willingly have shared the disgrace of my defeat 
 in argument. The stranger's speech was short.
 
 256 DUNALLAN. 
 
 and he retired to his seat, apparently wishing to 
 conceal himself from the many inquiring eyes 
 which were fixed upon him. My friends looked 
 at me, expecting that I should reply ; but I felt 
 that I could not, and openly avowed my inability, 
 and the extreme admiration with which the over- 
 powering talents and eloquence of the last speaker 
 had filled me. This avowal was followed by the 
 applauses of my friends, and now also by those 
 of my interesting opponent, who, by a feeling 
 and beautifully expressed compliment to my nobk 
 ingenuousness, as he called it, and also to my 
 talents, which he said could only fail when they 
 undertook the defence of so bad a cause, in some 
 degree restored me to my own good opinion. 
 The subject of discussion had been one on which 
 I had often before declaimed, and enjoyed the 
 consciousness of my powers of eloquence, whilst 
 I had, almost at will, excited the deepest emotions 
 in the young and ardent spirits who listened to 
 me. I heard no more that evening. Many at- 
 tempts were made to reply to the stranger, all 
 equally unsuccessful ; and after listening for some 
 time, he took advantage of a dispute about pre- 
 cedency, and retired. No one near me could 
 give me any information respecting him ; he 
 seemed quite unknown even by name. I had 
 sought his acquaintance by my looks; but though
 
 DUNALLAN. 257 
 
 I thought that he regarded me with complacency 
 when our eyes met, he seemed rather to avoid 
 looking at me ; and I felt hurt even at this sup- 
 posed rejection of my advances. When he re- 
 tired, however, I no longer found any interest in 
 what past. When the assembly dispersed, I fol- 
 lowed a young man with whom alone I had seen 
 the stranger converse, and learned that his name 
 was Churchill ; that he was the son of a clergy- 
 man, and was himself studying for the same pro- 
 fession, which induced him to cultivate every 
 means of improving his talent for public speaking. 
 I learned, also, that it was his choice, from the 
 limited income of his family, and still more from 
 the singularity of his own religious opinions, ta 
 live as retiredly as possible. I expressed myself 
 so warmly in his praise, that Churchill's friend 
 asked if I wished for his acquaintance, 
 
 *' ' I have courted him unsuccessfully with my 
 eyes,' replied I, laughing. * I should like ex- 
 tremely to be acquainted with him, however, if 
 he has no objection.' 
 
 " Next day I met Churchill's friend, but he 
 said nothing to me on the subject of the preced- 
 ing evening's conversation. 
 
 " ' I perceive,' said I to him, * that your friend 
 has declined my acquaintance.'
 
 258 DUNALLAN. 
 
 " He made some awkward apology ; and I can- 
 not describe to you, my dear Catharine, how 
 much my pride was hurt by this refusal of my 
 offered regard. I determined, however, that at 
 least I should not deserve his contempt. I stu- 
 died the subject on which we were the next even- 
 ing to debate with the deepest attention. On 
 that evening my eye sought for him whenever I 
 entered the hall. He was there, and I thought 
 looked away rather confused when our eyes met. 
 After several speeches Churchill rose, and again 
 drew forth the most unbounded applause ; yet 
 when I followed him on this night, and on the 
 opposite side of the question, the general voice 
 seemed to be with me. I avoided looking at 
 Churchill ; but as we left the hall, we came toge- 
 ther to a narrow door-way. I stood back to 
 let him pass. He bowed : ' Of courtesy, not of 
 right,' said he, as he passed. 
 
 " * I feel it of right, in every way,' replied I. 
 
 He only smiled, shook his head, and bowed 
 again. 
 
 " ' Are you acquainted with Mr. Churchill ?' 
 asked a young man who walked with me towards 
 my apartments. 
 
 " ' No,' replied I ; ' he does not wish for my 
 acquaintance.'
 
 DUNALLAN. 269 
 
 " ' Not wish for it !' exclaimed my young com- 
 panion ; ' he surely has not declined it ?' added 
 he, ' if you wish for his.' 
 
 " ' I certainly wish for his,' replied I, ' ar- 
 dently wish for it ; but he does not feel on this 
 subject as you do. I believe he does not think 
 my acquaintance worth seeking.' 
 
 " Some one put his arm within mine. It was 
 dark, and knowing that many of my friends walk- 
 ed near me, I was not surprised. 
 
 " ' Will you accept of the acquaintance of a 
 listener ?' said the voice of Churchill. 
 
 " I was delighted. ' I will grasp at his ac- 
 quaintance on any terms,'Teplied I, warmly shak- 
 ing his hand, which he as warmly returned. 
 
 " * I have broken through a resolution,' said 
 Churchill, ' for the very reason, I believe, which 
 ought to have determined me to keep it.' 
 
 " ' What was your resolution ?' 
 
 " ' Not to get acquainted with you.' 
 
 " ' With me ! With our set of young men, I 
 suppose you mean.' 
 
 " * No, Mr. Dunallan, with yourself.' 
 
 " ' And why so, Mr. Churchill ?' 
 
 " ' Ah, that is a long story. I shall tell it you 
 another time.' 
 
 " ' Come and sup with me now.'
 
 260 DUNALLAX. 
 
 " ' I never sup out ; but I shall go with you 
 for half an hour.' 
 
 " When we were alone, I asked his reason for 
 wishing so particularly to avoid my acquaintance. 
 
 " ' Because,' replied he, ' I know the superiority 
 of your talents, and the influence you acquire 
 over those with whom you associate, by the uni- 
 on of those talents with your temper and powers 
 of pleasing. I dreaded you, Dunallan.' 
 
 " ' But why, Churchill? I am not conscious of 
 having used my influence, whatever it is, to lead 
 any one astray.' 
 
 " ' I am certain you never intentionally have,' 
 replied he, ' yet you do lead astray ; and I 
 feel that you would soon acquire an unacco ^nt- 
 able power over me also, should my judgment 
 yield to my affections. I do not know if I am 
 right,' added he, ' but the selfish, cautious dread 
 of receiving injury from you has given place to 
 the ardent, though perhaps rash, desire, of at- 
 tempting to rescue you from the influence of 
 what I am convinced are very dangerous opi- 
 nions.' 
 
 " I urged him to explain himself. 
 
 " * Forgive me,' replied he, ' if I remind you 
 of the opinions you so eloquently advanced, and 
 which were so rapturously received and imbibed
 
 DUNALLAN. 261 
 
 by those who listened to you on the first evening 
 we met/ 
 
 " ' And which you, with such superior talent 
 refuted/ replied I. 
 
 " ' My fate this evening,' replied Churchill, 
 * has shown whose talents are most supe- 
 rior. It was the goodness of my cause alone 
 which gave me an advantage on that even- 
 ing; and believe me, Dunallan, whenever you 
 attempt to argue in favour of human virtue, and 
 its value, and the ' vast conquests of human rea- 
 son,' you will find that very inferior abilities, 
 with some knowledge of the human heart, will 
 be able to refute all you say. Why Dunallan,' 
 coL.^^nued he, ' are you such an enemy to reve- 
 lation ?' 
 
 " ' Revelation !' repeated I with disgust, * I am an 
 enemy to everything that debases the human mind. 
 There are parts of what you call revelation which 
 I admire as much as you can do ; but I cannot — 
 I have not tried, to believe what is contrary to 
 reason — to probability — to common sense. Sure- 
 ly Churchill, you cannot pretend to say that you 
 have succeeded in subjecting that fine mind of 
 yours to the belief, or to the supposition that the 
 belief is necessary, of all the contradictions — all 
 
 the absurd ' 
 
 " ' Stop, Dunallan,' interrupted Churchill,
 
 262 DUNALLAN. 
 
 * do not add to your future regret, by the 
 abuse of that which I fervently hope may one 
 day be to you, as it now is to me, I solemnly de- 
 clare, in as far as a weak and perverted, though 
 proud and cavilling nature, will suffer it to be, — 
 the test by which I try every principle, every 
 word, every action, every thought ; the light and 
 guide of my soul ; the foundation of all my hopes ; 
 and the support and consolation of my heart.' 
 
 " I shall never forget, my dear Catharine, the 
 tone of voice, and the elevated expression of 
 countenance which accompanied these words. I 
 can understand now from whence they proceed- 
 ed ; I could not then ; and when Churchill took 
 leave I felt bewildered in forming my judgment 
 of his character. My conclusion, however, was, 
 that early education had clouded his noble facul- 
 ties, and now led him to view as dangerous what- 
 ever was contrary to prejudices which, from their 
 connexion with lofty and mysterious subjects, 
 were calculated to engage a mind, such as I sup- 
 posed his to be; yet his dread of the influence of 
 others, proved to me that he felt the weakness of 
 the ground on which he stood. I therefore de- 
 termined to avoid combating those prejudices, 
 which seemed to have their hold as much on his 
 heart as on his imagination, but to attempt to lead 
 him gradually to the beautiful, and I then
 
 DUNALLAN. 263 
 
 thought irresistible, theories which filled my own 
 mind. I soon found, however, that it was im- 
 possible to avoid entering into argument with 
 Churchill respecting his opinions, because they, 
 in some degree, pervaded every subject on which 
 he conversed. In spite of this I became every 
 day more attached to him. I greatly disliked his 
 religious sentiments, however, and laboured, both 
 when with him, and when absent from him, to 
 find arguments to overturn a system which seem- 
 ed to unfit him for the world. I was perfectly 
 sincere then, in thinking my own system the right 
 one, and in every thing but in complying with 
 Churchill's desire to examine his opinions ; for 
 some of them appeared to me so absurd and un- 
 reasonable that I had not patience to hear him 
 argue in their defence. I introduced the subject 
 into our public debates; as I expected, all at 
 first joined me ; but Churchill stood firm though 
 alone. In a short time, however, to my grief and 
 dismay, the friend at college whom I loved and 
 esteemed next to Churchill adopted all his no- 
 tions. This friend, my dear Catharine, was 
 Walderford. His talents, particularly his pow- 
 ers of reasoning, had been esteemed by us all as 
 very superior. His adoption of Churchill's opi- 
 nions made a great sensation amongst us, and 
 even I then attempted to comprehend their sys-
 
 Hi DUNALLAN. 
 
 tern, and, if possible, to reconcile it to reason ; 
 but in vain. I told Walderford so. He only 
 smiled, and assured me that, while I worshipped 
 human reason, there was no room in my heart 
 for the true God. I asked him, in the bitterness 
 of sarcasm, ' If the Being he worshipped was the 
 God of fools only?* 
 
 " ' Even so,' replied he, with perfect mildness, 
 though he was naturally of a very warm tem- 
 per, ' even so, Dunallan ; his true worshippers 
 must become fools in their own eyes, and per- 
 haps in the eyes of others ; they must lay aside 
 the pride of reason, and their trust in its power, 
 and subject their understandings to the teaching 
 of Him who is the only source of truth.' . 
 
 " I shall not repeat our many arguments, my 
 dear Catharine ; I shall only give you an idea of 
 the systems we each maintained. Mine was this : 
 That the human soul is, when it enters life, per- 
 fectly innocent, and perfectly pure, possessed of 
 the germ of all those powers, in different degrees, 
 which are afterwards to be devoted to good, or 
 evil, according to the will of the possessor, bias- 
 sed, of course, by circumstances, example, or edu- 
 cation. That the human will is perfectly free, 
 and able to choose the path it may pursue ; and 
 that human virtue consists in preferring what is 
 good, and is great in proportion to the obstacles
 
 DUNALLAN. 265 
 
 it overcomes in making this choice. That the 
 Supreme Being will at last reward those with 
 everlasting happiness who attain, at least, to a 
 greater decree of virtue than vice : as to what 
 should become of those who did not, I had form- 
 ed no opinion ; for, respecting the declarations of 
 Scripture on that point, I was, to say the least, 
 completely sceptical. The founder of the Christ- 
 ian religion I regarded as But indeed, dear 
 
 Catharine, I will not risk the possibility of mislead- 
 ing your mind by entering into the thoughts I 
 then presumptuously indulged on this most sa- 
 cred subject. Suffice it to say, that, as a small 
 part only of the doctrines of Christianity can be 
 comprehended by the natural human understand- 
 ing, to that part only I assented. I shall not 
 mention the many absurd and irreverent specu- 
 lations which were entertained on this subject by 
 my companions and myself. The morality of 
 the New Testament I greatly admired, though I 
 thought many parts of it unfit for real life. 
 
 Churchill's opinions will perhaps appear to 
 you, as they then did to me, inconsistent with 
 reason, and dishonourable to the Divine Being. 
 He believed that a strong bias to evil was inhe- 
 rent in human nature, and an incapacity to choose 
 what is good. He argued from Scripture, and 
 from facts. I argued against both, in defence of 
 
 VOL. i. N
 
 266 DUNALLAN. 
 
 man's natural innocence. He considered human 
 reason as utterly incapable of discovering truth 
 with regard to the relation subsisting between us 
 and our Creator, and equally incapable of judg- 
 ing of what was suitable for that Creator to re- 
 quire of his creatures. That a revelation to in- 
 form us of this was absolutely necessary ; and 
 that, when such a revelation was offered, and 
 when we had investigated the truth of its claims 
 to inspiration, with fairness, and upon proper 
 principles, and found the proofs so complete as 
 to convince our reason, which ought to judge 
 here, we had only then to subject every power of 
 our souls to the implicit reception of every word 
 of this revelation ; and when we could not com- 
 prehend, we ought to pray humbly, and believing 
 firmly in its promises, for greater degrees of 
 light. And in this spirit alone, he said, could 
 we understand thfe meaning of Scripture; and 
 that until we, in some degree, comprehended re- 
 velation, and felt its influence on our belief, our 
 affections, and our conduct, our minds were ig- 
 norant of what real truth was, and in utter dark- 
 ness ; — we neither know ourselves, nor our pre- 
 sent abject state, nor the high destination which 
 we despised, nor the character of the Judge of 
 the universe, nor, in a word, any thing. 
 
 These opinions were revolting, and disgust-
 
 DUNALLAN. 267 
 
 ing to me in the extreme ; but my arguments had 
 no influence with either Walderford or Churchill, 
 and as we could not agree, we resolved to avoid 
 the subject, with this agreement, that our after- 
 lives should be the test of our principles. I ob- 
 served Churchill, when we made this agreement, 
 as he turned from me, raise his eyes to heaven, 
 as if imploring power to prove the truth of his 
 principles. 
 
 " My natural powers against your prayers, 
 Churchill," said I, in my usual tone of ridicule. 
 
 He smiled, but faintly, and a momentary pale- 
 ness passed over his countenance. 
 
 " You frighten me, Dunallan," replied he. " If 
 you knew the goodness which you thus re- 
 sist !" — he stopt, and only added, " You shall 
 not be without those prayers you so ignorantly 
 despise." 
 
 After this we seldom mentioned the subject; 
 and for some months, I believe, I enjoyed as un- 
 interrupted happiness as any rational being, in 
 my then state of ignorance of the real source of 
 enjoyment, could, and I can understand the feel- 
 ings of those who, disgusted with a chilling, and 
 corrupting, and jarring world, and having no 
 knowledge of happiness independent of what that 
 world can give, look back on the time spent at
 
 26H DUNALLAN. 
 
 college as the happiest of their lives. Walder- 
 ford, Churchill, and I, were seldom asunder, 
 and our affection daily increased. They both 
 rather shunned the subject of religion, but de- 
 clared their belief that I should one day think 
 as they did. I believed them sincere, and by 
 turns pitied and envied their delusions, particu- 
 larly Churchill's, who appeared to derive a hap- 
 piness from his religion which astonished me ; he 
 seemed to bring it into every thing. We were 
 all enthusiastic admirers of nature; but he seem- 
 ed to enjoy a pleasure so exquisite in beholding 
 its beauties, that he had no language in which to 
 express his feelings ; or rather, he seemed to en- 
 joy an internal delight, the source of which I did 
 not comprehend ; for to me then, beautiful as na- 
 ture appeared, its beauty made me sad. The small- 
 est flower seemed a source of the sweetest plea- 
 sure to Churchill. " How beautiful is His pen- 
 cilling !" he would exclaim, and then seemed to 
 regard it with a glow of rapture. Walderford 
 seemed to understand him, but did not appear so 
 happy. 
 
 " Ah, Walderford !" said I once to him, " the 
 disciple cannot command the sweet delusions of 
 the master ; your new religion has not added to 
 your happiness."
 
 DUNALLAN. 269 
 
 " I confess," replied he, " I am not yet so 
 happy as Churchill. All his difficulties are 
 nearly overcome. I am still combating with 
 mine, and most of all with my cherished pride 
 of reason; but, Dunallan, you have no cause 
 to doubt my word, and I declare to you be- 
 fore heaven, that, from what even / know and 
 feel of the influence of true religion, the mind, 
 however informed on other subjects, while with- 
 out it, is still deficient in even an idea of what 
 real peace, or truth, or happiness is." 
 
 I wondered at the strength of his delusion, for 
 he often seemed absent and uncomfortable ; but he 
 turned from all I said with the most impenetrable 
 indiff*erence. 
 
 At last the dreaded time of our separation 
 arrived. Walderford was called home to his fa- 
 ther, who was ill ; Churchill had the offer of a 
 curacy in the west of England ; and I, at my fa- 
 ther's desire, was to pay a visit to a friend of his, 
 who had spent a long life in the service of the 
 public, as my father said, and knew men as they 
 really were. 
 
 My father's ambition was, that I should dis- 
 tinguish myself in a political life. This had been 
 my own also ; but the deep distress I experienced 
 in parting from my friends, particularly my be-
 
 270 DUNALLAN. 
 
 loved Churchill, overcame ambition for the 
 time, and every thing else. Churchill discovered 
 a degree of grief also at parting from me, which 
 I had not thought any earthly deprivation could 
 have cost him. 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 J
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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