As a last resource, I went out and took a stroll by myself, and heartily wished the time was come for loading and firing; but there was nothing to amuse me--nothing to occupy my thoughts--and the day was sultry, but not scorching; a thin, white haze covered the face of heaven; the flowers most susceptible of atmospheric influence had half closed their petals, and everything seemed as weary about the world as I was. Air, I could find none; so, as a last resource, I sat myself down under a tree and began to meditate. I won't trouble you with what I thought about. I composed there a whole essay upon duelling, condemned it logically in principle and practice, thought every man who gave way to it a great fool, myself at the head of them, and rose up just as much determined to fight Mr. Robert Thornton as ever. The evening of that day passed a little more pleasantly. Mr. Wheatley returned, and enlivened us a good deal with his gay talk. Bessy sang us some very beautiful songs, and there seemed to me a deeper sentiment, a more tender expression in her tones, than I had ever heard before. Yet she did not talk very much to me. She seemed amused, nay, pleased, with Mr. Wheatley, and had I not known him to be a married man, I might have felt a little jealous. She got into corners with him, and talked in a low voice, and though she sometimes laughed and often smiled, there was a sort of earnestness about her manner which annoyed me a little. The morning of the next day passed very nearly in the same manner, only Mr. Wheatley was there all the time, and he, at least, kept up his share of the conversation. About Bessy Davenport, I remarked a good deal of what I may call flutter. She was now sad, silent, gloomy, abstracted; then gay--almost wildly gay--but still with a saddened gaiety. I remarked that her eyes often turned to my face, and I thought I understood her better than the day before. At length, about half-past one o'clock, I rose, saying,-- "I must go, I think. I will change my dress. I have engaged to dine with Mr. Byles, Mrs. Stringer, and, in the hospitable Old Dominion, I suppose I must pass the night there; but I shall set out in the cool to-morrow morning, and meet you all at breakfast." I thought I heard a gasp from the other side of the table, and, turning round, I saw Bessy as pale as the spring moon. "Good-bye, for the present, my sweet cousin," said I, holding out my hand. She gave me hers, as cold as that of a corpse, saying in a voice very low, but perfectly distinct,-- "Farewell, Richard--farewell!" Just at that moment, Mr. Wheatley exclaimed, "Going to dine with Mr. Byles! What, my old friend Billy Byles? Hang me, if I don't go with you. No one needs an invitation in Virginia, and you will give me a seat in your buggy, I dare say."