When Sylvia was seventeen, her guardian died, and she passed under the
care of Mrs. Grosvenor, a lady of wealth and fashion, and Sylvia's
nearest relative, though a distant one. While an inmate of Mrs.
Grosvenor's family, she still preserved somewhat of her life-long habits
of seclusion, and shrank from a too familiar intercourse with those
around her. Still, too, she was faithful to her cousin, or to the shadow
which bore his name.

The time now drew near when Edgar Vaughan, whose education had been
completed by an extensive range of travel, was to revisit the soil of his
nativity. Edward Hamilton, a young gentleman, who had been Vaughan's
companion, both in his studies and rambles, had already recrossed the
Atlantic, bringing letters to Mrs. Grosvenor and Sylvia Etherege. These
credentials insured him an earnest welcome, which, however, on Sylvia's
part, was not followed by personal partiality, or even the regard that
seemed due to her cousin's most intimate friend. As she herself could
have assigned no cause for her repugnance, it might be termed
instinctive. Hamilton's person, it is true, was the reverse of
attractive, especially when beheld for the first time. Yet, in the eyes
of the most fastidious judges, the defect of natural grace was
compensated by the polish of his manners, and by the intellect which so
often gleamed through his dark features. Mrs. Grosvenor, with whom he
immediately became a prodigious favorite, exerted herself to overcome
Sylvia's dislike. But, in this matter, her ward could neither be
reasoned with nor persuaded. The presence of Edward Hamilton was sure to
render her cold, shy, and distant, abstracting all the vivacity from her
deportment, as if a cloud had come betwixt her and the sunshine.

The simplicity of Sylvia's demeanor rendered it easy for so keen an