tance in Paris."

It was now her turn to blush, which she did deeply, and said nothing.

"He is expected, I believe, in a few days at Munich," said I, fixing my
eyes upon her, and endeavouring to read her thoughts; she blushed more
deeply, and the blood at my own heart ran cold, as I thought over all I
had heard, and I muttered to myself "she loves him."

"Mr. Lorrequer, the carriage is waiting, and as we are going to the
Gallery this morning, and have much to see, pray let us have your
escort."

"Oh, I am sure," said Catherine, "his assistance will be considerable
--particularly if his knowledge of art only equals his tact in botany.
Don't you think so, Jane?"--But Jane was gone.

They left the room to dress, and I was alone--alone with my anxious, now
half despairing thoughts, crowding and rushing upon my beating brain.
She loves him, and I have only come to witness her becoming the wife of
another. I see it all, too plainly;--my Uncle's arrival--Lord Callonby's
familiar manner--Jane's own confession. All--all convince me, that my
fate is decided. Now, then, for one last brief explanation, and I leave
Munich, never to see her more. Just as I had so spoken, she entered.
Her gloves had been forgotten in the room, and she came in not knowing
that I was there. What would I not have given at that moment, for the
ready witted assurance, the easy self-possession, with which I should
have made my advances had my heart not been as deeply engaged as I now
felt it. Alas! My courage was gone; there was too much at stake, and
I preferred, now, that the time was come, any suspense, any vacillation,
to the dreadful certainty of refusal.

These were my first thoughts, as she entered; how they were followed, I
cannot say. The same evident confusion of my brain, which I once felt
when mounting the breach in a storm-party, now completely beset me; and
as then, when death and destruction raged on every side, I held on my way
regardless of every obstacle, and forgetting all save the goal before me;
so did I now, in the intensity of my excitement, disregard every thing,
save the story of my love, which I poured forth with that fervour which
truth only can give. But she spoke not,--her averted head,--her cold and
tremulous hand, and half-drawn sigh were all that replied to me, as I
waited for that one word upon which hung all my fortune. At length her
hand, which I scarcely held within my own, was gently withdrawn. She
lift