When Louisa met Mr. Howard the next morning, she observed his countenance was languid, and dejected: he appeared to have experienced as little as herself of ‘tir'd nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep.’

During their morning's repast, Mr. Howard took occasion to mention that probably Mr. Stanley was by that time at some distance from the hall, as he was to leave it early that morning.

‘This, then,’ thought Louisa, ‘is the reason he came to bid me adieu, at such an unusual hour.’ She expressed the surprise she felt at his sudden departure,/ as it had not been expected for some weeks.

‘It was not,’ said Mr. Howard; ‘but some family concerns of importance have taken him to London, and I think it probable he will not return hither at least for some months.’

Louisa felt her colour vary: she tried to speak with indifference on the subject, but found herself not equal to the effort.

Mr. Howard, who observed her emotion, tenderly took her hand: ‘My dear Louisa,’ said he, in a tone of sympathy, ‘I have not been an inattentive observer of your conduct for some time past: I applaud the noble efforts you have made to conquer an attachment, which the merit of its object reasonably justifies you in having conceived; but which circumstances no longer allow you to continue.

‘Acting as you have done, solely impelled by the dictates of your own mind, I need not fear but that, when you know/ the necessity there is for you to persevere in such generous intentions, you will most readily continue to do so, and thereby obtain the approbation of your own heart, and retain the affection of all your friends. It is not, believe me, my dear child, the gratification of our wishes, however reasonable and just they may appear, that always constitutes our happiness; very far from it; that which we often imagine, in the warmth of youth, would complete our earthly felicity, not unfrequently, if obtained, causes our greatest misery for the remainder of our lives.