In spite of the intimate communion which existed between us, I had not yet dared to declare to her the sentiments with which she inspired me. For though I may say that I entertained the conviction that she did not regard them unfavourably; for though, in short, in moments when reason exerted her sway, I even felt assured that she loved me; yet never did I resolve to speak boldly of my love, but a morbid sensitiveness intervened, and filled me with doubt, hesitation, and suspicion. Thus, though her looks, her acts, ner deep emotions, sufficiently proclaimed it to an uninterested observer, I never yet had obtained from her that decisive avowal of her passion, which could alone satisfy me.

Like all those who have ever loved intensely, I was the unconscious victim of the

awe which she excited in me. It were impossible to express, scarcely possible to conceive, the fear, the apprehension, and the agitation I have endured in her presence. She had attained that mastery over me, that ever when I first appeared before her after a separation, however brief, my whole frame quivered, and every muscle and every nerve were spasmodic with emotion. I felt a difficulty even when alone in uttering her name; there appeared to me a profanation in breathing it to the silence and solitude of night— and at this moment I dare not record it; but, like Mary and her Calais, it will be found after my death engraven on my heart.

During the interview to which I am now recurring, I made repeated efforts to induce the conversation which I so intensely desired.

I felt more and more deeply that she loved me loved me devotedly; but when I sought to declare my own sentiments and demand the avowal of hers, my tongue cleaved to my mouth, and the unintelligible words died in disjointed syllables on my parched lips.

She left me, and I remained on the spot in a transport of passion, invoking curses on my weakness, all the violence of my nature again breaking forth in the bitterness of this fancied degradation. I then swore with many a deep imprecation that no earthly power should prevent me from repairing to her that evening, and obtaining from her the final and irrevocable interchange of vows.

In this determination I commenced my return to my home. I emerged into the high road at the foot of a rather steep hill, which

I was musingly and abstractedly ascending, when, at some little distance below me, a carriage stopped, and a gentleman alighted from it. Unconsciously I noted this proceeding, but took no heed of the individual. Leisurely I continued my path, still absorbed in my irritation, when I became aware that footsteps were rapidly overtaking me. Turning round, I perceived almost at my side the stranger whom I had previously so imperfectly remarked. But how shall I express the emotions which assailed me, when, on a nearer scrutiny, I recognised in that stranger the foe of my youth, the object of my hatred, the cause of my crime !

been suppressed, not extirpated, awoke, in renewed vigour, dilated my frame, and flashed What were his first emotions

from my eyes. on meeting me I know not; but, stimulated, perhaps, by my undisguised hostility, he quickly retorted with looks of scorn and defiance. We walked side by side for some moments, at each step slightly approaching nearer to the other. Neither spoke; but, wrapped in silence, and in our own dark thoughts, both appeared to be contemplating the act of violence, which neither knew how to commence. At length we came into personal collision.

He suddenly stopped; and, with a strong effort controlling his passion, in a stern voice, and with a stately gesture, exclaimed:

"Pass on !- We are not fit companions.