ing herself,
she proceeded on her way, and passed him. It was dark. There was no one
else near. A rush of frightful thoughts came upon her mind; her step
faltered; and she felt as if about to faint.

This was a moment, with Jones, of intense--of overwhelming emotion. He
had heard her light step behind him, but knew not that it was hers. No
sooner, however, had her graceful form caught his eye, than a strange
wildness of thought and feeling seized him, approaching almost to
delirium. She was alone. He had long wished for such an opportunity to
declare his passion; and yet, now that it had arrived, he trembled to
embrace it. To allow it to pass was, in all probability, to entail upon
himself many more weeks or months of racking anxiety, uncertainty, and
suspense; and yet to embrace it was, perhaps, to set the last seal to
his despair. On such a subject he could have debated for weeks; but now,
the least hesitation, and the opportunity was lost.

While these contending thoughts distracted his mind, Miss Manners
started, and almost paused, as if seized with a sudden panic. This fixed
his resolution.

"Dear lady!" he said, in a bland and tremulous voice, "you seem
frightened. I trust it is not of me you are afraid. Believe me, you are
near one who would protect, not harm you."

"Who are you?" she inquired, faintly.

"Who am I?" he replied. "In truth, I can hardly tell you who I am. I am
one, madam, lost both to himself and the world--an outcast--a wanderer
in solitary places--a madman--a dreamer! O, sweet lady!--but I am wrong
to speak thus."

"I know you now," she said, gaining courage; "your name is Jones, is it
not?"

"Ay, madam," he answered, "that is my unfortunate name; but, if the
world knew all--or if you knew all, I would not care for the world."

"Tell me," she said, but with some hesitation, as if in doubt whether it
was proper to stay.

"I will, if you'll forgive me," he said; "but my story is, perhaps,
long. Will you walk on?"

Miss Manners proceeded slowly along, with Jones at her side.

"I have now," resumed the latter, "resided for nearly six years in this
village. In my intercourse with the world I had been unfortunate, and
retirement was what I sought. I found it here; and, between the study of
books and nature, I felt myself happy, and associated but little with my
neighbours. I do not weary you?"

"No," said Miss Manners; "go on."

"At length," he continued, "I began to feel that marriage