and hastily dining, he walked on towards Oak-Grove.
The morning on which the squire and his daughter had parted with Hamilton, they had immediately gone home; Mr. Mortimer retired to bed and to sleep; his daughter to bed, but not to sleep. Some hours after she descended to the parlour, where she found herself in the affectionate arms of her brother John. Having asked many kind questions about herself and their father, and how she liked London, he could not help observing, that, retaining all her sweetness and tenderness, she was much less sprightly and communicative.—"What's the matter with you, Maria? have you lost your heart that you are so pensive?" At this question, Maria bushed, but pretended to laugh. Before she could answer the question, her father making his appearance, after the recipro-
