'Could you,' replied he, visibly affected, 'but have seen me on the receipt of your last letter, you would have perceived that my feelings were not enviable--Your affecting expostulation, added to other circumstances of a vexatious nature, oppressed my spirits with a burthen more than they were able to sustain.' He resumed his seat, spoke of his situation, of the tenure on which he held his fortune,--'I am neither a stoic nor a philosopher,' added he,--'I knew not how--_I could not answer your letter_. What shall I say?--I am with-held from explaining myself further, by reasons --_obligations_--Who can look back on every action of his past life with approbation? Mine has not been free from error! I am distressed, perplexed--_Insuperable obstacles_ forbid what otherwise'-- 'I feel,' said I, interrupting him, 'that I am the victim of my own weakness and vanity--I feel, that I have been rushing headlong into the misery which you kindly sought to spare me--I am sensible of your delicacy--of your humanity!--And is it with the full impression of your virtues on my heart that I must teach that heart to renounce you--renounce, for ever, the man with whose pure and elevated mind my own panted to mingle? My reason has been blinded by the illusions of my self-love--and, while I severely suffer, I own my sufferings just--yet, the sentiments you inspired were worthy of you! I understand little of--I have violated common forms--seeking your tenderness, I have perhaps forfeited your esteem!' 'Far, _very far_, from it--I would, but cannot, say more.' 'Must we, then, separate for ever--will you no longer assist me in the pursuit of knowledge and truth--will you no more point out to me the books I should read, and aid me in forming a just judgment of the principles they contain--Must all your lessons be at an end--all my studies be resigned? How, without your counsel and example, shall I regain my strength of mind--to what _end_ shall I seek to improve myself, when I dare no longer hope to be worthy of him--' A flood of tears checked my utterance; hiding my face with my hands, I gave way to the kindly relief, but for which my heart had broken. I heard footsteps in the passage, and the voice of Mrs Denbeigh as speaking to her servant--covered with shame and grief, I dared not in this situation appear before her, but, rushing out at an opposite door, hid myself in my chamber. A train of confused recollections tortured my mind, I concluded, that Augustus had another, a prior attachment. I felt, with this conviction, that I had not the fortitude, and that perhaps I ought not, to see him again. I wrote to him under this impression; I poured out my soul in anguish, in sympathy, in fervent aspirations for his happiness. These painful and protracted conflicts affected my health, a deep and habitual depression preyed upon my spirits, and, surveying every object through the medium of a distempered imagination, I grew disgusted with life. CHAPTER II