Henry could not be blind to what were the wishes of Louisa's family; and he had of late had many reasons, besides the acceptance of the bracelet, to suspect that she herself hesitated. The idea drove him almost mad. The interview of last night, though it had convinced him of his power over Louisa when present, had by no means silenced his fears as to what she might be persuaded to do or to promise in his absence; he had determined, therefore, to bring matters to a crisis. He besought her, with all the eloquence of which he was master, to end his suspense, and pronounce his doom. She hesitated--she knew she should never be permitted to marry Henry; and thinking that she had already indulged too long in an idle flirtation, a foolish preference that must end in nothing, she confessed at last how much it was her mother's wish that she should marry Sir James. Henry lost all self-command; overwhelmed her with reproaches; raved at her perfidy, her cruelty; and after working himself up to a perfect phrenzy, threatened to put a period to his existence that very night--that very hour, and before her eyes. As his agitation increased, his step quickened, till it was almost impossible for Louisa to keep pace with him; while, as the interest of the conversation deepened, he led her first as much apart from the other couples as possible, and finally, turning short round a corner, quitted the general promenade altogether. He then, with his really alarmed companion, entered a cross walk, which was shrouded in almost total obscurity, except that at the furthest point of its long and unfrequented vista, one solitary lamp glimmered, as if but to make the surrounding gloom more apparent. Louisa's terror was now extreme: she felt certain that he had dragged her to this gloomy spot to witness, as he had declared she should, the horrible act of suicide he was about to commit. CHAPTER XII.