Montgomery rushed out of doors to give way to all the tumultuous agony of his mind, unheard, unseen! – The mad folly of Miss Moreton had disordered his temper; but the intelligence of Mary Cuthbert's illness had sunk deep into his heart. – From reveries of the most flattering kind, he had been awakened to hear that this tenderly beloved girl was, in all probability, breathing her last, the victim of a contagious disorder; that she was unattended, unknown, placed amongst strangers.

And what had preceded the direful malady? – A visit to H— barracks. Heaven and earth! the lovely, the modest Mary taken to be gazed at by soldiers – to be exposed to their unlicensed stare, their rude and brutal insults; perhaps her fame, her reputation gone!

‘Oh! can I ever forget the day, when, beaming with modesty and native loveliness, she entered the Attic Villa!’ cried he, clasping his hands together; – ‘Can I ever forget the thousand nameless fears which glowed on her cheek when she found that the remarks of Walwyn applied to her cousin! Oh! Mary, Mary, and art thou gone for ever!’

This last exclamation seemed to bring reason to the aid of Montgomery.

– He returned to the house with more haste than he had quitted it; and, without inquiring about the heroine in hysterics, he took a candle into the little study, which had lately been his fathers, and there he immediately addressed a few lines to Mrs. Deborah Moreton.

Apologizing in as methodical a way as his agitation would permit, he informed her of the sudden arrival of her niece at Elmsly, and the intelligence which she had communicated concerning Miss Cuthbert, and, with no common energy, he besought Mrs. Moreton to take some immediate steps for her comfort and safety.