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den event of that kind, might just as well have been dispensed with, that it was almost by compulsion Ernest could gain her undivided attention, even for a single evening. Like a cat just ready to jump, unless there was something to consult him about, her hand was on the point of withdrawing from his the moment he took it, as something was sure to recur to her mind that must be done then, or it would be forgotten. Systematic in all her arrangements, her ruling desire that every trifling thing, unconnected with herself, should be properly attended to, sprung from a consciousness, which in her demonstrative nature could not fail of expression, that she had reached a dividing point in her life where the closing hours of the era just past would yield satisfaction in proportion to the duties fulfilled, though they might be nothing more than to gratify her love of order and completeness. Any one similarly constituted will understand this feeling from experience on other occasions than this. A journey yields much more pleasure upon the reflection that no duty has been neglected, and every thing has been left in its proper place at home, even at the expense of a hurried preparation. Rosalind was of such a positive nature that any omission, however slight, disturbed her peace of mind. Perhaps she had promised some poor, lone woman, to spend an hour in reading to her, or to repair some article of dress for which young eyes were needed, but not so much as the bloom of young hearts, which detained her when Ernest was waiting for her at home, whom she