aithful and sincere, I return you. More than friends we
never can be, for I have no heart to give.'

'Ah, dearest Miss Temple,' said Lord Montfort, agitated, 'I ask nothing
but that friendship; but let me enjoy it in your constant society; let
the world recognise my right to be your consoler.'

'You deserve a better and a brighter fate. I should not be your friend
if I could enter into such an engagement.'

'The only aim of my life is to make you happy,' said Lord Montfort.

'I am sure that I ought to be happy with such a friend,' said Henrietta
Temple, 'and I _am_ happy. How different is the world to me from what
it was before I knew you! Ah, why will you disturb this life of
consolation? Why will you call me back to recollections that I would
fain banish? Why------'

'Dearest Miss Temple,' said Lord Montfort, 'do not reproach me! You
make me wretched. Remember, dear lady, that I have not sought this
conversation; that if I were presumptuous in my plans and hopes, I
at least took precautions that I should be the only sufferer by their
nonfulfilment.'

'Best and most generous of men! I would not for the world be unkind to
you. Pardon my distracted words. But you know all? Has papa told you
all? It is my wish.'

'It is not mine,' replied Lord Montfort; 'I wish not to penetrate your
sorrows, but only to soothe them.'

'Oh, if we had but met earlier,' said Henrietta Temple; 'if we had but
known each other a year ago! when I was, not worthy of you, but more
worthy of you. But now, with health shattered, the lightness of my
spirit vanished, the freshness of my feelings gone, no, my kind friend,
my dear and gentle friend! my affection for you is too sincere to accede
to your request; and a year hence Lord Montfort will thank me for my
denial.'

'I scarcely dare to speak,' said Lord Montfort, in a low tone, as if
suppressing his emotion, 'if I were to express my feelings, I might
agitate you. I will not then venture to reply to what you have urged;
to tell you I think you the most beautiful and engaging being that ever
breathed; or how I dote upon your pensive spirit, and can sit for hours
together gazing on the language of those dark eyes. O Miss Temple, to me
you never could have been more beautiful, more fascinating. Alas! I may
not even breathe my love; I am unfortunate. And yet, sweet lady, pardon
this agitation I have occasioned you; try to love me yet; endure at
least my presence; and let me continue to cheri