,
when, in his presence, he was told of the intended union, caused a
reddening on the face of the latter: he always fancied Henry saw his
thoughts; and he knew that Henry in return would give him _his_. On the
present occasion, no sooner were they alone, and Henry began to utter
them, than William charged him--"Not to dare to proceed; for that, too
long accustomed to trifle, the time was come when serious matters could
alone employ his time; and when men of approved sense must take place of
friends and confidants like him."

Henry replied, "The love, the sincerity of friends, I thought, were their
best qualities: these I possess."

"But you do not possess knowledge."

"If that be knowledge which has of late estranged you from all who bear
you a sincere affection; which imprints every day more and more upon your
features the marks of gloomy inquietude; am I not happier in my
ignorance?"

"Do not torment me with your ineffectual reasoning."

"I called at the cottage of poor Agnes the other day," returned Henry:
"her father and mother were taking their homely meal alone; and when I
asked for their daughter, they wept and said--Agnes was not the girl she
had been."

William cast his eyes on the floor.

Henry proceeded--"They said a sickness, which they feared would bring her
to the grave, had preyed upon her for some time past. They had procured
a doctor: but no remedy was found, and they feared the worst."

"What worst!" cried William (now recovered from the effect of the sudden
intelligence, and attempting a smile). "Do they think she will die? And
do you think it will be for love? We do not hear of these deaths often,
Henry."

"And if _she_ die, who will hear of _that_? No one but those interested
to conceal the cause: and thus it is, that dying for love becomes a
phenomenon."

Henry would have pursued the discourse farther; but William, impatient on
all disputes, except where his argument was the better one, retired from
the controversy, crying out, "I know my duty, and want no instructor."

It would be unjust to William to say he did not feel for this reported
illness of Agnes--he felt, during that whole evening, and part of the
next morning--but business, pleasures, new occupations, and new schemes
of future success, crowded to dissipate all unwelcome reflections; and he
trusted to her youth, her health, her animal spirits, and, above all, to
the folly of the gossips' story of _dying for love_, as