bid her bring him up to her, (she had scarce
Life to utter these last words) and before she was well recover'd,
_Maria_ enter'd with the Man; and _Isabella_ making a Sign to her, to
depart the Room, she was left alone with him.

_Henault_ (for it was he) stood trembling and speechless before her,
giving her leisure to take a strict Survey of him; at first finding no
Feature nor Part of _Henault_ about him, her Fears began to lessen, and
she hop'd, it was not he, as her first Apprehensions had suggested; when
he (with the Tears of Joy standing in his Eyes, and not daring suddenly
to approach her, for fear of encreasing that Disorder he saw in her pale
Face) began to speak to her, and cry'd, Fair Creature! is there no
Remains of your _Henault_ left in this Face of mine, all o'regrown with
Hair? Nothing in these Eyes, sunk with eight Years Absence from you, and
Sorrows? Nothing in this Shape, bow'd with Labour and Griefs, that can
inform you? I was once that happy Man you lov'd! At these words, Tears
stop'd his Speech, and _Isabella_ kept them Company, for yet she wanted
Words. Shame and Confusion fill'd her Soul, and she was not able to lift
her Eyes up, to consider the Face of him, whose Voice she knew so
perfectly well. In one moment, she run over a thousand Thoughts. She
finds, by his Return, she is not only expos'd to all the Shame
imaginable; to all the Upbraiding, on his part, when he shall know she
is marry'd to another; but all the Fury and Rage of _Villenoys_, and the
Scorn of the Town, who will look on her as an Adulteress: She sees
_Henault_ poor, and knew, she must fall from all the Glory and
Tranquility she had for five happy Years triumph'd in; in which time,
she had known no Sorrow, or Care, tho' she had endur'd a thousand with
_Henault_. She dyes, to think, however, that he should know, she had
been so lightly in Love with him, to marry again; and she dyes, to
think, that _Villenoys_ must see her again in the Arms of _Henault_;
besides, she could not recal her Love, for Love, like Reputation, once
fled, never returns more. 'Tis impossible to love, and cease to love,
(and love another) and yet return again to the first Passion, tho' the
Person have all the Charms, or a thousand times more than it had, when
it first conquer'd. This Mistery in Love, it may be, is not generally
known, but nothing is more certain. One may a while suffer the Flame to
languish, but there may be a reviving Spark in the Ashes, rak'd