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her tears were mingled with emotions of joy and grief. It was long ere either of them had fortitude to pronounce the small, but much important word, Adieu. Henry accompanied Jane to the end of the grove, and then left her—forever!
He persued his journey to London, where, he informed his father and sister, he was going to receive some money, which a gentleman, to whom he had lent it about a twelvemonth before, had remitted to his banker. When the time for Henry’s return, the youth came not. Jane’s anguish was insupportable: her family was alarmed at her squalled looks. She was ill; she pleaded indisposition; and to her own family she expressed her fears that Henry was false to his vows. Yet they knew not the extent of her misery; she would sooner have died than related her loss of innocence. How could she overwhelm her aged parents with anguish, and bring a stain on a family whose virtue had been their boast? A letter came by the post to Mr Percival; its contents were like a thunder-clap to the old gentleman. Henry had embarked for the West Indies. The youth intreated his pardon. but assured him, that circumstances of an unpleasant nature, which he could not then explain, had obliged him to leave England, and retire to his relation abroad.
What Henry could not explain, was soon explained for him. Lucy too abruptly communicated the idtelligence at the farm, and in the
