tiresome business; and why
did you never mention it before?'

'It is only a little business with my lawyer,' said he; and he told me
something about a piece of property he wanted to sell, in order to pay
off a part of the incumbrances on his estate; but either the account was
a little confused, or I was rather dull of comprehension, for I could not
clearly understand how that should keep him in town a fortnight after me.
Still less can I now comprehend how it should keep him a month, for it is
nearly that time since I left him, and no signs of his return as yet. In
every letter he promises to be with me in a few days, and every time
deceives me, or deceives himself. His excuses are vague and
insufficient. I cannot doubt that he has got among his former companions
again. Oh, why did I leave him! I wish--I do intensely wish he would
return!

June 29th.--No Arthur yet; and for many days I have been looking and
longing in vain for a letter. His letters, when they come, are kind, if
fair words and endearing epithets can give them a claim to the title--but
very short, and full of trivial excuses and promises that I cannot trust;
and yet how anxiously I look forward to them! how eagerly I open and
devour one of those little, hastily-scribbled returns for the three or
four long letters, hitherto unanswered, he has had from me!

Oh, it is cruel to leave me so long alone! He knows I have no one but
Rachel to speak to, for we have no neighbours here, except the Hargraves,
whose residence I can dimly descry from these upper windows embosomed
among those low, woody hills beyond the Dale. I was glad when I learnt
that Milicent was so near us; and her company would be a soothing solace
to me now; but she is still in town with her mother; there is no one at
the Grove but little Esther and her French governess, for Walter is
always away. I saw that paragon of manly perfections in London: he
seemed scarcely to merit the eulogiums of his mother and sister, though
he certainly appeared more conversable and agreeable than Lord
Lowborough, more candid and high-minded than Mr. Grimsby, and more
polished and gentlemanly than Mr. Hattersley, Arthur's only other friend
whom he judged fit to introduce to me.--Oh, Arthur, why won't you come?
why won't you write to me at least? You talked about my health: how can
you expect me to gather bloom and vigour here, pining in solitude and
restless anxiety from day to day?--It would serve you