I pressed her to explain herself. She did so, by informing me, "her father suspected her attachment, and, to prevent any ill consequence arising, had proposed a gentleman to her for a husband, whom she had rejected with firmness. No artifice, or ill usage," continued she, "shall make any change in my resolution;--but I shall say no more, the pacquet will more thoroughly convince you of what I am capable." "Good God!" said I, in an agony, "why should your tenderness be incompatible with your duty?" "I do not think it," she answered;--"it is my duty to do justice; and I do no more, by seeking to restore to you your own." We settled the mode of our future correspondence; and I tore myself from the only one I loved on earth. When I joined the regiment, I availed myself of the privilege given me to inspect the papers. Oh! how was my love, esteem, and admiration, increased! The contents were written at a time, when she thought me insensible, or at least too scrupulous. She made a solemn vow never to marry; but as soon as she came of age, to divide the estate with me, making over the remainder to any children I might have; but the whole was couched in terms of such delicate tenderness, as drew floods of tears from my eyes, and riveted my soul more firmly to her. I instantly wrote to her, and concealed not a thought or sentiment of my heart--_that_ alone dictated every line. In the letter she returned, she sent me her picture in a locket, and on the reverse a device with her hair; this was an inestimable present to me.--It was my sole employ, while off duty, to gaze on the lovely resemblance of the fairest of women. For some months our correspondence was uninterrupted.--However, six weeks had now passed since I expected a letter. Love is industrious in tormenting itself. I formed ten thousand dreadful images in my own mind, and sunk into despair from each. I wrote letter after letter, but had still no return. I had no other correspondent in England.--Distraction seized me. "She's dead!" cried I to myself, "she's dead! I have nothing to do but to follow her." At last I wrote to a gentleman who lived in the neighbourhood of Mr. Maynard, conjuring him, in the most affecting terms, to inform me of what I yet dreaded to be told.--I waited with a dying impatience till the mails arrived.--A letter was brought me from this gentleman.--He said, Mr. Maynard's family had left L. some time;--they proposed going abroad; but he believed they had retired to some part of Essex;--there had a report prevailed of Miss Maynard's being married; but if true, it was since they had left L. This news was not very likely to clear or calm my doubts. What could I think?--My reflections only served to awaken my grief. I continued two years making every inquiry, but never received the least satisfactory account.