having caught me at last, so shone through, that it was quite a failure. After briefly answering his salutation and inquiring after the ladies at the Grove, I turned away and walked on; but he followed, and kept his horse at my side: it was evident he intended to be my companion all the way.
"Well! I don't much care. If you want another rebuff, take it—and welcome," was my inward remark. "Now sir, what next?"
This question, though unspoken, was no long unanswered: after a few passing observations upon indifferent subjects, he began, in solemn tones the following appeal to my humanity:—
"It will be four years next April since I first saw you, Mrs. Huntingdon,—you may have forgotten the circumstance, but I never can—I admired you then, most deeply, but I dared not love you: in the following autumn, I saw so much of your perfections that I could not fail to love you, though I dared not shew it. For
