once so dear to him, was then never breathed from his lips, never sounded on his ear, but it brought with it the most excruciating throb to his heart. His wishes were to forget, if possible, that she had ever lived for him. Viewing the subject in this light, he considered himself as a beacon to the unwary to avoid running into the indulgence of passion!
Time thus crept on; when, as if awaking from some harassing dream, how sudden was the surprise of Philimore!—Valpée no longer frequented the Park; he was gone; he was no longer basking, the favoured lover, in the smiles of Oriana! Had she refused him? had she declined his offered hand? was it for him, for his sake, she had thus acted?
Such were the ejaculations of Philimore, whilst the conviction stole upon him how much he had wronged her. But though the memory of former joys in part revived, and with it the charm her letters, full of lively repartee and tender sentiment, had conveyed, yet in those moments of apprehension and remorse which frequently stole over his mind, he accused himself of having seduced away her affections, of having stolen her from her family, and of having marred the lustre of her worldly interests, if not her happiness. But for him, alas! she might have been the honoured, the cherished, and the admired bride of Valpée, whose merits and worth he had heard so highly extolled!
Frequent attacks of the pleura rendered his life
