I could hear no more. The voices dissolved into whispers, and these soon ceased. The fate of Rupert Sinclair was sealed. Now, what was my course at this alarming crisis? What steps did it behove me--the friend, tutor, and counsellor of Rupert Sinclair--to take at such a moment as this, when the happiness of his whole life was about to be decided? Was there, in fact, any thing to do? Had not Sinclair already reached that point at which remonstrance is vain, and advice impertinent? And why should I remonstrate at all? What had I to say against a union with a lovely and accomplished woman, whose father had perhaps wealth enough to buy off the prejudices of Lord and Lady Railton, had they been ten times as bigoted as they really were? What could I produce against the young lady herself but a prejudice formed at first sight, and perhaps as unfounded as it had been hastily adopted? Was not Sinclair old enough to select his partner for himself; and when did interference in the delicate affairs of love ever lead to any thing but the confusion of the intruder, and the acceleration of the mischief he absurdly hoped to prevent? I was at the height of my perplexity when Sinclair returned to me. I heard his footsteps at the door, and immediately plunged into my bedroom. Next morning I was awake betimes, but Rupert was up before me. Indeed, when I beheld him, I doubted whether he had been to rest at all. He looked haggard and distressed. I took my cue from his downcast appearance. "Rupert," said I, "it is my intention to quit Bath." "When?" he inquired. "Possibly to-day. To-morrow at the furthest." Rupert sighed. "We return together, I presume?" said I in continuation. "Wilson," answered Rupert, in a tone of kindness, "I have never deceived you yet; I will not deceive you now. Nor shall you suffer in any way from acts of mine. I cannot leave this place. It is not expedient that you should stay." "Your leave of absence soon expires," I said. "I shall not fail to be at my duty, Wilson," continued Sinclair. "But there is important business to do before I leave this city." "You have entered, Rupert, into some rash engagement." "Into an engagement--yes; not rashly, I believe; for I have held consultation with my heart--deep, earnest communings, that have sanctioned my fondest inclination." "Beware, Sinclair!" I answered. "In some cases, the heart is no safe monitor; and inclination and conviction become convertible terms." "You know my secret, Wilson." "I can guess it." "You saw her last night. I wished you to see her. I desired to hear from your lips a confirmation of the regard she has inspired in one"---- I shook my head. "You are right--you are right," proceeded Sinclair, hastily. "You shall not speak. You shall not even tell me how divine a being Heaven has placed within my reach. You shall not be involved in the calamity which an irrevocable act may bring upon two whose crime it is to love too well."