CHAPTER XIII.

EUNICE'S DIARY.

Not long before I left home, I heard one of our two servants
telling the other about a person who had been "bewitched." Are
you bewitched when you don't understand your own self? That has
been my curious case, since I returned from the picture show.
This morning I took my drawing materials out of my box, and tried
to make a portrait of young Mr. Dunboyne from recollection. I
succeeded pretty well with his frock-coat and cane; but, try as
I might, his face was beyond me. I have never drawn anything so
badly since I was a little girl; I almost felt ready to cry. What
a fool I am!

This morning I received a letter from papa--it was in reply
to a letter that I had written to him--so kind, so beautifully
expressed, so like himself, that I felt inclined to send him a
confession of the strange state of feeling that has come over me,
and to ask him to comfort and advise me. On second thoughts,
I was afraid to do it. Afraid of papa! I am further away from
understanding myself than ever.

Mr. Dunboyne paid us a visit in the afternoon. Fortunately,
before we went out.

I thought I would have a good look at him; so as to know his face
better than I had known it yet. Another disappointment was