The week that preceded Elizabeth's wedding, seemed extremely short to the whole of the parties immediately concerned; every day was occupied with some excursion for their amusement, and every evening was passed at the house of some friendly acquaintance, who would not be refused the pleasure of their company. Nobody, at this epoch, was more popular than the future Mrs. George Millar; since her neighbours could not prevent her marriage, they were determined to extract as much pleasure from the occurrence as possible. For this end they gave a number of tea-parties to welcome her brother and say good-bye to her sisters, and learn as much as they could of the future plans and prospects of each. The handsome Mr. Samuel Watson, with his lively manners, promising prospects, and probable disengaged heart, was really a most interesting object; and since Emma was supposed to be engaged, and there was no further ground for her exciting jealousy, she was allowed, on all hands, to be uncommonly handsome and agreeable too. Nothing, therefore, was omitted, which could express their favourable opinion of the whole family, or their anxiety to be on good terms with them all.

It was no particular misery to Jane that, whilst every one else was pressing for their company, there was not one day left disengaged for her. She liked a great better to be invited to meet them, as she was every evening: for, unless she could quite outshine all her neighbours in the elegance of her entertainment, she preferred giving none at all; and as it happened that Robert was in a stingy mood, she had, with difficulty, extracted from him sufficient money to buy the very handsome gown and bonnet in which she was to appear at the wedding.

At all these parties where, of course, the Millars regularly met the Watsons, Sam still contrived to be a great deal with Annie,—but the most favourable opportunities for intercourse, were during their long rambles in the country. Then he was always her cavalier, and they quarrelled and laughed together without interruption. Her spirits seemed as inexhaustible as her strength; she could both walk and talk for miles without mental or bodily exhaustion, and often tired out all her companions except Sam.

It was no wonder then, when he paid her the compliment of untiring attention, and unvarying amusement, that she should, in her turn, find him a most delightful companion, infinitely more agreeable than any one she had ever known. No more was heard about his profession—she forgot it entirely, and only considered him in the light of a very pleasant acquaintance.

It was natural that, during some of their many engagements, Emma should again meet Mr. Morgan; and equally natural that she should feel some embarrassing recollections at doing so. A bow was all that their situation, at the first moment of meeting, allowed to pass between them; but, when by a movement amongst her neighbours, a vacant seat, and the power of reaching it allowed him, he did not hesitate to avail himself of the opportunity, and place himself by her side.

There was nothing of restraint or embarrassment in his manner—no appearance of consciousness or shame; he did not know, perhaps, how much their joint names had been made the subject of gossip and scandal—she thought so for a moment, but then, from what she remembered, she knew he must have been aware of it; then she felt angry at his impudence; but finally, she concluded that, after all, he was taking the wisest course; and that to converse quietly, as if nothing had passed to raise an unpleasant feeling, would be, on the whole, the conduct least calculated to excite attention.

Calm and polite as she was, he was sensible of a difference in her manners from past days, and he did not indulge a hope of regaining her confidence; but it wounded his vanity to suppose that she, amongst all the women of his acquaintance, beheld him with calm dislike; whilst he could not even to himself deny her superiority over the many whose approbation or admiration constantly followed his footsteps.

If he could not regain her friendship he wanted at least to excite some emotion in her mind, and call up one of her former smiles so full of brightness and feeling. With the tact which gave him half his popularity, he hit upon the subject most likely to awaken kind sentiments in her heart; he began praising her brother. The introduction had given him so much pleasure, he was, he would not say astonished, but certainly most agreeably surprised to find Mr. Samuel Watson so very superior a young man. There was no likeness to Mr. Watson—no—he could not compliment his good friend, Robert, by saying that there was; seldom had he seen two brothers more dissimilar; but her younger brother's manners were so good—such a young man must make his way in the world, must be a favourite; there was every probability of his success; nay, there was certainty of it: there was intelligence and spirit in his eye, which promised nobly. Then he enquired minutely into his prospects; entered with the warmth of a friend into the plan for his establishing himself at Chichester, and gave several hints for his benefit.

Emma, in spite of her aversion to the speaker, and her determination that nothing should make her admit even the semblance of mutual friendship in their future intercourse, found herself speaking with unintentional warmth and animation. She checked herself immediately, and a shade of vexation passed over her countenance; which was not lost on her companion. Accustomed to study the minds and inclinations of his various patients, his quickness at reading all the little marks of feeling evinced in their countenances, enabled him pretty well to appreciate the state of her mind; but when he proceeded on the same subject, in hopes of once more inducing her to express her feelings, he was extremely vexed to find that, after making him some short and trivial reply, she rose and walked away.

This movement marked a decided aversion on her part which piqued him deeply, and for which he was not prepared. He remained in his seat, spoke to no one else, and occupied himself, whilst he continued in the room, in considering whether he no longer had any chance of regaining his influence with her.

He knew pretty well all that had passed, and all that had been whispered about their former intimacy; but he thought that since all that had been set in a favourable point of view, and her character perfectly cleared, she need not now have been so cold and distant to him. If, as was whispered, she was engaged to some one else, there was no reason for shunning him, unless, and the thought actually thrilled his mind with delight, unless she had really preferred him, and now feared to trust herself in his power. This would account for all her conduct; her flight to Burton—her engagement itself, and her present shrinking from him—all might be traced to the same source. His vanity was excited to the highest pitch, as he thought of this interpretation, and he could believe her quite capable of such strength of mind, and firmness of purpose. Other women when they had liked him, had thrown themselves in his way, but it was perfectly consonant with what he supposed her character to be, that she should follow a precisely opposite course of conduct.

If this were the case he felt sure he might regain his former influence by a little dexterous management, and as a first step towards it, he resolved to cultivate the friendship of her youngest brother. Had he known that he was perfectly excluded from her regard by the double barrier of a very ill opinion of himself, and a warm attachment to Mr. Howard, he might have spared himself the trouble of the attempt.

Towards the end of the week a sort of gipsy party had been arranged to form an expedition to a pretty park in the neighbourhood, which from the absence of the owner was a frequent resort on such occasions. Mr. Morgan was not originally asked to join it; but knowing what was going on, he presented himself at the door of George Millar's house just before the company started, and his expressions of regret at not having time to see more of Sam speedily produced a very hearty invitation from Mrs. Turner, the chaperone of the party, to accompany them; for, as she observed, "on such occasions the more the merrier."

It was a very large party without him. Mrs. Turner and the two Millars, four Watsons, for Jane was of the party, with Alfred Freemantle as her escort, since her husband would not leave the office, two cousins of hers, young ladies who had arrived the day before to grace Elizabeth's wedding, Miss Bridge, and some young ladies, natives of the town: in short they numbered fourteen without Mr. Morgan, but as ladies were in the majority he was heartily welcomed by several of the party at least, if not by those particular individuals whose favour he most desired.

How the whole of the party were disposed of in different vehicles, need not now be particularised; there was variety at least in their equipages, and the power of choice in arranging themselves. Sam was the charioteer of an "inside Irish car," which of course amongst its passengers numbered Annie Millar, and likewise Emma Watson; Mrs. Robert Watson; two young cousins, completed this party, and apparently made any addition impossible; but one of the girls, not liking to be entitled to only a fifth part of the attention of any gentleman, suddenly abdicated her seat in favour of Mr. Morgan, that she might enjoy the place of third in a gig, under the escort of Alfred Freemantle. Nothing could have been more consonant to his wishes, than this sudden piece of good luck which thus befell Mr. Morgan: his gaiety was quite remarkable, but his judgment and tact, were still more so. For he devoted himself at first to please the stranger, and do the honors of the country to her; he was bent on making himself agreeable, but it was in the most open and unsuspicious way. There was nothing of tenderness or sentiment in his manners, nothing approaching to flirtation in his address to Miss Hall, and to the others it was as perfectly correct, as if dictated by Lord Chesterfield himself.

Annie, indeed, was too much engrossed by the driver to notice the intruder; she had no attention to bestow on any one else; and had not the horse been particularly quiet and sagacious, and the road remarkably smooth and straight, it is by no means unlikely that their drive might have terminated abruptly under some hedge, so much more was Sam himself occupied with the lady behind, than the road in front of him. Neither Miss Hall nor Emma, however, made any complaint of his coachmanship; for Emma, being opposite to Annie, enjoyed the full benefit of her lively remarks; and whilst her neighbour confined his attention to his vis-À-vis, the proximity to him, in which she unexpectedly found herself, did not discompose her at all, nor did she feel any impatience for the termination of so agreeable a drive.

When they alighted in the park, which was the termination of their drive, they found most of the company assembled before them, and separated into groups strolling about on the borders of the artificial lake, a sail on which was one of their projected pleasures. In consequence of this, these five were left together to entertain each other, until the arrival of the whole party enabled them to arrange their plans for the day's amusement. The point of rendezvous was an ornamental boat-house, standing at one angle of the lake, embowered in fir trees, and commanding a pretty view of the opposite banks, which were high and woody. Miss Hall was, what was then more rare than now, a sketching young lady: and her pencils were speedily produced. But she could not bear inspection whilst taking her views, and unceremoniously desired the other four to walk away.

It was a proof of Sam's great good-nature to Emma, that he continued with her, and declined the tempting opportunity of securing a comfortable walk with Annie Millar, that he might not leave his sister with no other companion than Mr. Morgan. Perhaps Miss Millar might not entirely appreciate this self-sacrifice on his part, or possibly might not thank him for it, so much as Emma; certainly Mr. Morgan, who had calculated on a different line of conduct, judging from the evident admiration which Sam had previously testified for Annie, was very much disappointed at it. He took care to keep close to Emma's side, ready to improve any opportunity that might present itself; and thus they wandered about, without thinking much of where they were going, or paying much attention to the really pretty scenery around them. The consequence of this was, that they lost their place in the boat, for being quite out of sight and hearing when it was ready, their companions did not wait for them; and the intended sail had so entirely escaped the memory of the quartet, that the first thing which recalled it to their memory, was the sight of the boat, which caught their eyes just us they gained the summit of an eminence commanding a view of the whole sheet of water at their feet.

Sam expressed a hope that Miss Millar was not vexed at this incident. Annie protested that for herself she did not care about it, but she should be very sorry indeed, if she had beguiled Emma from sharing in any pleasure she would have enjoyed.

Emma, on her side, was of opinion that they were much more comfortable as they were; the boat seemed very much crowded, and she thought to be squeezed in such a way that they could not move, nor even turn their heads to contemplate the scenery, was not half so pleasant as sitting on the green bank where they were resting so comfortably.

"In parties of this sort," said Mr. Morgan, "all depends on the company; an uncongenial companion will spoil everything—even the finest landscape in the world."

"Very true," replied Annie, quickly; "but how can one help that? One can not say to a disagreeable person, 'Go away—you annoy and distress me!' One can only smile politely and suffer internally."

"You, I dare say, can smile whilst annoyed," observed Sam, "but I never can; whether I am happy or miserable, I show it immediately."

"Do you indeed," replied she, "I am sorry to hear that; I had been hoping that the gloomy look and air of despondency with which you have treated us, were your habitual manners, and might not really indicate the state of intense suffering to which I suppose I must now attribute them."

"I am certain my looks have expressed my feelings accurately," replied he sturdily.

"Very well, I shall set my imagination to work to invent some romantic cause for the dejection of spirits which you display. You are, probably, repenting over some lost patient, whose end you hastened by your surgical arts."

"I do not think you ought to jest on such subjects," replied he, gravely; then, as she turned her head towards him with an expression of surprise, he added, "Excuse my liberty of speech. I quite forgot who I was speaking to."

She was silent and looked down, so that her bonnet concealed her countenance. He viewed her uneasily, and wanted to know whether she was affronted—or from what other reason she maintained this silence. Mr. Morgan saw all this; he could not read Annie's feelings exactly, but he felt convinced that, had they, at that moment, been without witnesses, some very tender scene would have ensued.

He now took up the conversation by observing, how much more beautiful the landscape would be in two months' time, when the tints of autumn gave a little variety to the scenery. The dull, heavy green of summer, he declared, reminded him always of mourning; it was so sombre.

He appealed to Emma, and she was compelled to reply. She had nothing to urge against his preference for the autumnal tints—except, that their proximity to winter gave them sadness, which, in themselves, they did not merit.

"The sadness of autumn is, however, compensated by the hopes of returning spring; we can bear to part with the verdure, which we know will be restored in fresh beauty. In that respect, how superior is inanimate nature, and our feeling of love for it, to human friendship, or regard, or esteem."

"I do not see that," said Emma.

"Who can tell when a faded friendship shall be renewed, or when a withered hope shall again look flourishing and verdant. The blast of winter is certain to pass away, and its consequences vanish with it—but the fatal breath of enmity—the chilling effects of whispered malevolence—the poison of calumny—tell me Miss Watson, of a cure for these, if you can."

"I know of none, save patience and a good conscience," replied Emma.

"Yes, patience—one needs that, indeed, to bear what I alluded to—when one sees the face which used to meet one with a smile, averted gravely—the hand once freely extended, now drawn back—the kindly words, once gushing out from the friendly heart, like water from a copious fountain, exchanged for the slow and measured accents which freeze the heart, as they drop out one by one; when one sees all this," he continued, lowering his voice, but speaking with impressive energy; "and knows it to be the cold deadness of feeling produced by the ill-will of others—the blighting words of malice—what can one hope—to what spring shall one look forward? when may one expect the young feelings of friendship to bud again?"

"Depend upon it they will, unless there is something more than unkind breath to check them. To pursue your allegory, Mr. Morgan, if the plant of friendship wither irretrievably, it must be because there is something wrong at the root, otherwise, it is certain once more to revive."

"I believe," said he, after a momentary pause, "my feelings are deeper and more permanent, than those of most people."

"Yours Mr. Morgan!" interposed Annie, amazed, "I had no idea you were troubled with any thing of the sort—when did you first find out that you had any feelings?"

"Have I ever given you cause to doubt it," enquired he, significantly.

"Why, to own the truth, though we have been so long acquainted," said she, "I cannot say that I ever undertook to investigate the nature or extent of your feelings on any subject. I had a sort of general idea that you had some; but of what quality I should have been very much puzzled to say, except that I certainly should not have thought of constancy as your particular forte. However, I am willing to plead total ignorance on the subject. Ignorance for which I alone am to blame, arising from indifference and inattention."

"You need hardly remind me of that, Miss Millar," retorted he with mock humility, "I am quite aware that I am too entirely an object of indifference to you, for my feelings to be considered worth a moment's attention."

He walked away, as he spoke, to a short distance, and seemed occupied in viewing the landscape from the brow of the hill on which he stood, his features expressing an appearance of wounded feelings struggling with pride.

"You have hurt him, Annie," whispered Emma, "you are too severe."

"At least he wants to make us believe so," replied she softly, "but it's all seeming—seeming—there is nothing real about that man."

"Now I rather like him," said Sam, "he seems so kind and friendly towards me, I am quite indebted to him for the interest which he has taken in my prospects, and the useful hints which he has given me."

"Did he recommend you to marry, Sam?" enquired Emma.

"I did not consult him on the subject, it is a point on which I should neither ask nor take advice."

"Bravo, Mr. Watson—a most spirited determination. It is a point of so little consequence indeed, and one in which your own experience must be so calculated to guide you, that no doubt your intention to reject all advice, is most judicious and praise-worthy."

"Are you of opinion that I am incompetent to act for myself in such a case?" enquired he.

"I shall tell you as I did Mr. Morgan just now, I am ignorant and indifferent on that subject—and now you can go and walk on the other side of the hill—or if you think it will look more picturesque, by the side of yonder angry gentleman."

"No, Miss Millar, your ignorance, and indifference shall not drive me from you; I would rather try to enlighten the one and overcome the other."

This, though whispered softly, seemed to overpower her; she coloured deeply; rose from the bank where they were sitting, and walked away to the side of an adjoining thicket, where she employed herself in trying to gather some brier roses from the hedge. Sam watched her for some minutes, then perceiving that in stretching forward to grasp a blossom, her veil had become entangled in a thorny shrub, he started up, and in a moment was at her side to aid and release her.

Emma did not like to follow them, thinking she should be in the way, and expecting that a few minutes would bring them back. In the mean time Mr. Morgan looked round, and seeing her alone joined her. He still affected to look hurt and sad, and Emma generously gave him credit for more feeling than he deserved.

"That volatile girl—" said he, and then stopped.

"You must not mind what she says," suggested Emma kindly, "I am certain she sometimes speaks without thinking, but never from malice or ill will, even when she seems severe."

"She does not surprise me," replied he; "I am used to her ways, and there is no change in her; she is always the same, it is vacillations of friendship, variations of good opinion which I confess astonish and pain me. And yet why should they—after all, the human mind is so liable to error, so prone to seek misconstructions, so inclined to change and variation, that nothing of the kind ought to surprise me."

She was determined to be silent, and occupied herself in wishing for the return of her brother and Annie, who had strayed farther than she had expected, and were now out of sight.

He was disappointed at her silence, and changed the subject into an enquiry as to whether she should make a long stay at Croydon. She told him she was only to remain until her sister's marriage, which would, as he knew, very shortly occur.

"And then," said he, "may I ask where you are going—do you return to Osborne Castle?"

"Certainly not," replied she decisively, "I do not think I am likely to go there at all. Sir William and Lady Gordon have taken a house in the neighbourhood of his own property, and if I visit them, it will be there."

"Then where will be your home?"

"At Burton, with Miss Bridge, for the present I believe."

"I trust you, with your talents and accomplishments, your taste and your sensibility, are not doomed to pass your life as the companion of an elderly lady, buried in an obscure country village, unknown and unadmired."

"There might be many worse positions in life, more disagreeable companions, and more trying situations, Mr. Morgan," replied Emma with warmth.

"Forgive me if my interest for you has led me to express my feelings in an unauthorised way. I cannot entirely forget the past, nor consign to oblivion all that I once flatter myself was felt between us."

She could not exactly tell what to answer him, for she really hardly knew what construction to place upon his words. He paused for a moment and then resumed.

"Rumour was wrong then, when it asserted that there were ties in contemplation, which would bind you closely to Osborne Castle—that, in short, the young lord, doing justice to the merits which would grace a higher rank, had sought to make you his wife."

"I am not engaged to Lord Osborne, if that is what you mean," said Emma calmly.

"I had thought it strange indeed if a young man so unformed, so bearish, so almost brutal, had known how to value, much more to win, a jewel so bright and excellent."

"I must beg, Mr. Morgan, if you mention Lord Osborne's name at all, it may be in terms such as I may listen to without offence. Pray remember that I am under obligations to that family, for which it would be a bad return to hear, without remonstrance, such aspersions cast on the head of it. But I must confess I see no reason why either they or myself should form the subject of your interrogatories. You have no claim either past or present, which can make these enquiries anything short of impertinent, and I must beg they may cease entirely."

She then walked a few steps to see if she could obtain any view of her brother and friend, for whose return she felt anxious. Nothing, however, was to be seen of them, and as she paused, her companion was again at her side.

"How unfortunate I am," said he in a low tone, "it is constantly my fate to offend those for whom I feel the deepest interest, and to be misunderstood on every occasion where my sentiments are concerned. Interest, friendship, zeal, constantly carry me beyond the bounds proscribed by cold custom and formality, and I am repulsed in a way which all but annihilates me. At this moment you are angry with me; have I sinned unpardonably?"

"I am not angry" said Emma, drily, "but I must beg that all personal subjects of conversation may be dropped; we have neither sentiments nor interests in common, and on all topics connected with feeling I must impose a total silence."

"Unfeeling, cruel girl," cried he, then seeing that she resolutely walked away in the direction of the boat-house, where she concluded the party must be now assembled, he followed her steps in haste, and placing himself by her side, he continued in a low but emphatic tone,

"Emma Watson, why should you scorn my offers of friendship, and my professions of regard? Why should you shun me as if I were some dangerous enemy? Do you mistrust my word; or am I responsible for the silly gossiping of idle women? Did I not warn you against it?—why then visit it on me? Or have I personally offended you?—what have I done?—you will not speak—you try to elude me—nay, but you shall hear me; you shall answer me by heaven!—Who has wronged me in your opinion?"

"Mr. Morgan, let go my hand—is this honourable?—is this manly to attempt to obtain an answer to impertinent enquiries by compulsion?—Let go my hand—I tell you I will neither hear nor answer you!"

"Emma, I was wrong—" said he, softening his voice, but instead of releasing her hand, clasping it in both of his, "I ought to know you better—I understand your heart and feelings—"

"You do no such thing, sir,—or you would not detain me here, or compel me to listen to such language. Let me go—I command you."

"Emma, your heart is no longer your own—am I not right?—you love!"

"And if I do—what concern is that of yours?" retorted she.

"Of mine, it is everything in the world to me—you love me—deny it if you can."

"Insolence!" exclaimed Emma, "unmanly insolence."

"No, it is not insolence, Emma, you look beautiful in scorn, but you need not scorn me; I am your equal in birth and education—aye! and in taste and mental qualities too—and happily possessed of the fortune which you want. And I love you, and tender all to you. You have done what no other woman ever did—for your sake I would even stoop to the yoke of matrimony; so great is my love and admiration for you. Now have I said enough—now you may venture to confess the feelings long treasured in your heart—the love which I have long read in your downcast eye, and averted smile—maiden modesty need no more compel you to silence—speak, my Emma—bless me with the words I am longing, panting to hear."

He advanced one step nearer as he spoke, and seemed about to pass his arm round her waist, but Emma availed herself of the movement to snatch her hand from his, and stepping back, whilst she cast on him a look of withering scorn, she replied,

"Yes, you have said enough, Mr. Morgan, to warrant my speaking plainly—and I will speak—from what extraordinary perversion of reasoning, you have persuaded yourself I loved you I cannot tell, but I trust you will believe me once for all—when I say my feelings are entirely the reverse of yours—and when I add—I love and am engaged to another."

Mr. Morgan stepped back in his turn with an air in which disbelief and bitter mortification struggled, with an attempt at indifference and contempt.

"Engaged—impossible—Emma, you are deceiving me—it is a downright falsehood!" exclaimed he.

"I must beg you to leave me," said she, haughtily. "I am not accustomed to associate with those who accuse me of falsehood—I can find my way alone."

She had continued to walk on from the moment she had declared her engagement, and she flattered herself she must be approaching the boat-house, but as they had reached the low ground, and were making their way amidst thickets intersected with narrow paths, they could not see the building.

"And it is for this," he exclaimed, presently, "that I stooped to ask your hand—that I humbled myself as I never before did to woman, to be scorned and rejected—false-hearted girl—true type of your weak and vacillating sex—leading me to believe you preferred me, that you might spurn me from you with disdain!" he approached one step nearer as he spoke, and his face wore a look of malignity which absolutely frightened Emma—he saw it.

"No, you need not shrink from me—I am not so mad as to do you harm; you are safe under the protection of the laws. I would not risk my freedom for all the girls in Surrey. But I must speak my feelings—"

He had no time, however, to say more, for hurried footsteps were heard behind them, and in another moment Sam was beside his sister.

"My dearest Emma, I beg ten thousand pardons, but I was so sorry that I left you—I assure you I had no intention of doing so—only—only—Annie Millar persuaded me; but the moment we met some one whom she could join, I ran back for you, and found you were gone—I am very sorry. You are not angry with me?"

"No," said Emma softly; "but I am very glad you are come, dear Sam."

He felt her hand tremble under his arm, and looking in her face, perceived she was very pale.

"You have walked too far, dear Emma," said he affectionately; "you wanted my arm—how sorry I am. Why did not Morgan support you?"

He looked round, but the gentleman in question had taken another path and was out of sight. Emma tried to speak, but instead of articulating words, she only burst into tears, and astonished Sam by appearing on the verge of a fit of hysterics.

He had too much sense to press for an explanation, but contented himself with making her sit down, removing her bonnet and gloves, and supporting her till she was calm again.

He then begged for some explanation of her emotion: she said she was foolish: he admitted that was possible, but only if she refused him all reasons for her conduct. She promised to be more explicit some other time if he would only now give her back her bonnet, allow her to make herself tidy, and rejoin the party.

These very reasonable requests could not be refused, and they returned to the boat-house together, just as another division of their party entered it likewise; consequently their appearance without Mr. Morgan created no surprise or remark.

He returned a short time after, quite calm and happy in appearance, and nothing on either side transpired to attract the attention of the company, or give rise to the smallest surmise that anything unusual had occurred. It was some comfort to have to deal with so complete an actor, one who would betray nothing undesirable, by word or deed.