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 disappointed; well she knew such a discovery would wound him to the soul.

"And, Oh! (she cried) to add sorrow to his sorrow, to increase his misery already too oppressive, would be indeed to aggravate my own."

At the entrance of the valley, in which the cottage of her father stood, she alighted and desired Lubin to lead the horses after her.

Had her mind been less disturbed than it now was, she would have been enraptured with the lovely prospect she beheld: it was the autumnal season, and the promise of the spring was amply fulfilled by the luxuriance of the harvest; the grapes she had left in embryo, were now ripened into purple clusters, and the toils of the vintage had already commenced; a profusion of gay flowers enameled the bright sword of the valley, and the yellow mantle of Ceres covered the little vales that intersected many of the hills, and