nor acknowledge them when received? May I not still hope and trust?"
I did hope and trust—for a while; but alas, alas! the time ebbed away; one week followed another, and, excepting one distant glimpse, and two transient meetings—during which scarcely anything was said—while I was walking with Miss Matilda, I saw nothing of him—except, of course, at church.
And now, the last Sunday was come, and the last service. I was often on the point of melting into tears during the sermon—the last I was to hear from him. . .the best, I should hear from any one, I was well assured. It was over. . .the congregation were departing; and I must follow. . .I had then seen him and heard his voice, too probably for the last time.
In the church-yard, Matilda was pounced upon by the two Misses Green. They had many inquiries to make about her sister, and I know not what besides. I only wished they would have done, that we might hasten back to Horton Lodge: I longed to seek the retirement of my own room, or some sequestered nook in the grounds, that I might deliver myself up to my feelings to weep my last farewell, and lament my false hopes and vain de-
