, I swore, Naresby, as you know--that I would, that I could
never love again. I thought that the treachery, the heartlessness of one,
one smiling deceiver, had seared my heart, and rendered it callous to all
the charms and blandishments of her sex. But I have been again deceived.

"I have not, however, this time, chosen the object of my affections from
the class to which--I cannot pronounce her name--that fatal name--belonged;
but from one which, however inferior in point of adventitious acquirement,
far surpasses it--of this experience has convinced me--in all the better
qualities of the heart.

"The woman to whom I am to be married--my Rosina Adair!--is the daughter of
a humble yeoman, and has thus neither birth nor fortune to boast of. But
what in a wife are birth or fortune to me? Nothing, verily nothing, when
their place is supplied--as in the case of my betrothed--by a heart that
knows no guile; by a temper cheerful and complying; and by personal charms
that would add lustre to a crown. Birth, Naresby, I do not value; and
fortune I do not want.

"Well, then, Naresby, my period of seclusion is now about over, and I
return again to the world. Who would have said this two years ago? If any
had, I would have told them they spoke untruly--that I had abjured the
world, and all its joys, for ever; and that, henceforth, William Mowbray
would not be as other men. But so it is. I state the fact, and leave others
to account for and moralize on it."

* * * * *

Such, then, was the letter which Mr Mowbray wrote to his friend, Naresby,
during the interval to which we formerly alluded. Several other letters he
also wrote and despatched about the same time; but the purpose of these,
and to whom written, we must leave the sequel of our story to explain.

Having no further details of any interest wherewith to fill up the
intervening period between the occurrence of the circumstances just related
and the marriage of Rosina Adair and William Mowbray, we at once carry
forward our narrative to the third day after the celebration of that event.
On that day--

"Rosy, my love," said Mr Mowbray, smiling, "I have a proposal to make to
you."

"Indeed!--what is it, William?"

"Why, I'll tell you what it is," said the latter; "I wish to go on a visit
to a particular friend, and I wish you to go with me."

"Oh, surely," replied Mrs Mowbray. "Is it far?"

"Why, a pretty long way; a two days' journey. Wi