He paused for her answer. Adelaide pitied him from her soul; she felt how much mental agony he must have endured ere he could thus, on a point where his whole happiness was at stake, so frame his questions as if he wished her to decide against him. She therefore replied timidly and evasively, “Surely, Colonel Warenne, this must depend very much on the circumstances of the case, on the extent of injury to be inflicted, and the degree of advantage to be obtained.” “True,” rejoined he, his voice gradually losing its tone of bitterness, and becoming mournfully tender, “true,” said he, “and I cannot disguise from myself that though the benefit to myself would be inexpressibly great, greater far than I have any right to hope for, yet the injury which I should inflict would be certain and considerable. Would to Heaven I could come to a contrary conclusion, but I cannot.” He buried his face in his hands on the table which stood before him; a second afterwards, however, he looked up, with a deep flush crimsoning his very brow, and continued in a hurried manner, “I cannot, however, renounce my chance.” Henry’s voice at this instant was heard at the door, and Warenne ceased abruptly. Henry came to tell Adelaide that her aunt was waiting for her below in her carriage. Adelaide obeyed the summons, and with a lighter heart than she had borne for many days, ran down the stairs to her aunt. “He must speak out now,” thought she; “he must confess his love:” and in the certainty that an explanation would take place when next they met, she forgave Henry his interruption of their interview. Warenne departed under the influence of very different feelings. He was ashamed of his own irresolution, and afraid that he had acted dishonourably in betraying the state of his mind to Adelaide. Ere he reached his lodgings, however, the very consciousness of having committed himself relieved his breast of much anxiety. He had not again to weigh the value of the different arguments which love and honour suggested, for the adoption of one line of conduct or the other. Henceforth he had one only measure to embrace, viz. to lay his fortunes, such as they were, at Miss Marston’s feet. He resolved to try his fate on the following morning. CHAPTER IV. “Est-il point vray, ou si je l’ay songé, Qu’il m’est besoin m’éloigner ou distraire De votre amour, et en prendre congé? Las! je le veux, et ne le puis faire— Que dis-je, veux! Non, c’est tout le contraire, Faire le puis, et ne le puis vouloir.” Attributed to FRANÇOIS I.