to receive her. He had just heard of the melancholy accident that had
taken place at the village, and was terrified for the safety of his
good-humoured cousin. He displayed those unpremeditated emotions which
are common to almost every individual of the human race. He was greatly
shocked at the suspicion that Emily might possibly have become the
victim of a catastrophe which had thus broken out in the dead of night.
His sensations were of the most pleasing sort when he folded her in his
arms, and fearful apprehension was instantaneously converted into
joyous certainty. Emily no sooner entered under the well known roof than
her spirits were brisk, and her tongue incessant in describing her
danger and her deliverance. Mr. Tyrrel had formerly been tortured with
the innocent eulogiums she pronounced of Mr. Falkland. But these were
lameness itself, compared with the rich and various eloquence that now
flowed from her lips. Love had not the same effect upon her, especially
at the present moment, which it would have had upon a person instructed
to feign a blush, and inured to a consciousness of wrong. She described
his activity and resources, the promptitude with which every thing was
conceived, and the cautious but daring wisdom with which it was
executed. All was fairy-land and enchantment in the tenour of her
artless tale; you saw a beneficent genius surveying and controlling the
whole, but could have no notion of any human means by which his purposes
were effected.

Mr. Tyrrel listened for a while to these innocent effusions with
patience; he could even bear to hear the man applauded, by whom he had
just obtained so considerable a benefit. But the theme by amplification
became nauseous, and he at length with some roughness put an end to the
tale. Probably, upon recollection, it appeared still more insolent and
intolerable than while it was passing; the sensation of gratitude wore
off, but the hyperbolical praise that had been bestowed still haunted