314 [January 28, 1860.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Conducted by

worthy suspicion, that he might be speculating
on my impulsively answering the very questions
which he had just described himself as resolved
not to ask—that I evaded all reference to this
part of the subject with something like a feeling
of confusion on my own. part. At the same
time, I was resolved not to lose even the smallest
opportunity of trying to plead Laura's cause;
and I told him boldly that I regretted his gene-
rosity had not carried him one step farther, and
induced him to withdraw from the engagement
altogether.

Here, again, he disarmed me by not attempting
to defend himself. He would merely beg me to
remember the difference there was between his
allowing Miss Fairlie to give him up, which was
a matter of submission only, and his forcing
himself to give up Miss Fairlie, which was, in
other words, asking him to be the suicide of his
own hopes. Her conduct of the day before had
so strengthened the unchangeable love and
admiration of two long years, that all active
contention against those feelings, on his part,
was henceforth entirely out of his power. I
must think him weak, selfish, unfeeling towards
the very woman whom he idolised, and he must
bow to my opinion as resignedly as he could;
only putting it to me, at the same time, whether
her future as a single woman, pining under an
unhappily placed attachment which she could
never acknowledge, could be said to promise her
a much brighter prospect than her future as the
wife of a man who worshipped the very ground
she walked on? In the last case there was hope
from time, however slight it might be—in the
first case, on her own showing, there was no
hope at all.

I answered him—more because my tongue is
a woman's, and must answer, than because I
had anything convincing to say. It was only
too plain that the course Laura had adopted
the day before, had offered him the advantage if
he chose to take it—and that he had chosen to
take it. I felt this at the time, and I feel it
just as strongly now, while I write these lines,
in my own room. The one hope left, is that his
motives really spring, as he says they do, from
the irresistible strength of his attachment to
Laura..

Before I close my diary for to-night, I must
record that I wrote to-day, in poor Hartright's
interests, to two of my mother's old friends in
London—both men of influence and position.
If they can do anything for him, I am quite sure
they will. Except Laura, I never was more
anxious about any one than I am now about
Walter. All that has happened since he left us
has only increased my strong regard and sym-
pathy for him. I hope I am doing right in try-
ing to help him to employment abroad—I hope,
most earnestly and anxiously, that it will end
well.

10th.—Sir Percival had an interview with
Mr. Fairlie; and I was sent for to join them.

I found Mr. Fairlie greatly relieved at the
prospect of the " family worry" (as he was

pleased to describe his niece's marriage) being
settled at last. So far, I did not feel called on
to say anything to him about my own opinion;
but when he proceeded, in his most aggravatingly
languid manner, to suggest that the time for the
marriage had better be settled next, in accord-
ance with Sir Percival's wishes, I enjoyed the
satisfaction of assailing Mr. Fairlie's nerves with
as strong a protest against hurrying Laura's
decision as I could put into words. Sir Percival
immediately assured me that he felt the force of
my objection, and begged me to believe that the
proposal had not been made in consequence of
any interference on his part. Mr. Fairlie leaned
back in his chair, closed his eyes, said we both
of us did honour to human nature, and then
repeated his suggestion, as coolly as if neither
Sir Percival nor I had said a word in opposition
to it. It ended in my flatly declining to men-
tion the subject to Laura, unless she first ap-
proached it of her own accord. I left the room
at once after making that declaration. Sir
Percival looked seriously embarrassed and dis-
tressed. Mr. Fairlie stretched out his lazy legs
on his velvet footstool; and said: " Dear
Marian! how I envy you your robust nervous
system! Don't bang the door!"

On going to Laura's room, I found that she
had asked for me, and that Mrs. Vesey had in-
formed her that I was with Mr. Fairlie. She in-
quired at once what I had been wanted for; and I
told her all that had passed, without attempting
to conceal the vexation and annoyance that I
really felt. Her answer surprised and distressed
me inexpressibly; it was the very last reply
that I should have expected her to make.

"My uncle is right," she said. "I have
caused trouble and anxiety enough to you, and
to all about me. Let me cause no more, Marian
—let Sir Percival decide."

I remonstrated warmly; but nothing that I
could say moved her.

"I am held to my engagement," she replied;
"I have broken with my old life. The evil
day will not come the less surely because I put
it off. No, Marian! once again, my uncle is
right. I have caused trouble enough and anxiety
enough; and I will cause no more."

She used to be pliability itself; but she was
now inflexibly passive in her resignation—I
might almost say in her despair. Dearly as I
love her, I should have been less pained if she
had been violently agitated; it was so shock-
ingly unlike her natural character to see her as
cold and insensible as I saw her now.

11th.—  Sir Percival put some questions to me,
at breakfast, about Laura, which left me no
choice but to tell him what she had said.

While we were talking, she herself came down
and joined us. She was just as unnaturally com-
posed in Sir Percival' s presence as she had been
in mine. When breakfast was over, he had an
opportunity of saying a few words to her pri-
vately, in a recess of one of the windows. They
were not more than two or three minutes toge-
ther; and, on their separating, she left the room