Let me do her justice in this. Let me not wrong her but to think it. What but love, kindness, and all affection is her tendance upon poor Emily. To her, is she not all meekness, all love, all forbearance? To my uncle, too, no daughter could be more dutiful, more affectionate, more solicitously watchful. To all—to all but me! To me, only, the proud, the capricious, the indifferent. And yet, none love her as I do; I must love on in spite of pride, and scorn, and indifference—I cannot choose but love her."
It is evident that Major Singleton is by no means sure of his ground, as a lover. His doubts are, perhaps, natural enough, and, up to a certain period, must be shared by all who love. His musings, as we may conjecture, had for their object his fair cousin, the beautiful Kate Walton—according to his account, a most capricious damsel in some respects, though well enough, it would appear, in others. We shall see for ourselves as we proceed. Meanwhile, the return of Humphries from his scouting expedition arrests our farther speculations upon this topic, along with the soliloquy of our companion, whose thoughts were now turned into another channel, as he demanded from his lieutenant an account of his discoveries.
"And what of the Britons, Humphries? are they yet in saddle, and when may we hope to approach the dwelling? I have not been used to skulk like a beaten hound around the house of my mother's brother, not daring to come forward; and I am free to confess, the necessity makes me melancholy."
"Very apt to do so, major, but you have to bear it a little longer. The horses of the officers have been brought up into the court, and the boy is in waiting, but the riders have not made their appearance. I suppose they stop for a last swig at the colonel's Madeira. He keeps a prime stock on hand, they say, though I've never had the good fortune to taste any of it."
"You shall do so to-night, Humphries, and grow wiser, unless your British major's potations exceed a southern gentleman's capacity to meet them. But you knew my uncle long before coming down from Santee with him."
"To be sure I did, sir. I used to see him frequently in the village; but since the fall of Charleston he has kept close to the plan-
