“You desire to speak with me, Amabel,” he said:—­“Ha! you have relented?—­Is there any hope for me?”

“Alas! no,” she replied; “and it is on that very point I have now detained you.  You will, I am sure, rejoice to learn that I have at length fully regained my peace of mind, and have become sensible of the weakness of which I have been guilty—­of the folly, worse than folly, I have committed.  My feelings are now under proper restraint, and viewing myself with other eyes, I see how culpable I have been.  Oh!  Leonard, if you knew the effort it has been to conquer the fatal passion that consumed me, if I were to tell you of the pangs it has cost me, of the tears I have shed, of the heart-quakes endured, you would pity me.”

“I do, indeed, pity you,” replied Leonard, “for my own sufferings have been equally severe.  But I have not been as successful as you in subduing them.”

“Because you have not pursued the right means, Leonard,” she rejoined.  “Fix your thoughts on high; build your hopes of happiness on Heaven; strengthen your faith; and you will soon find the victory easy.  A short time ago I thought only of worldly pleasures, and was ensnared by vanity and admiration, enchained to one whom I knew to be worthless, and who pursued me only to destroy me.  Religion has preserved me from the snare, and religion will restore you to happiness.  But you must devote yourself to Heaven, not lightly, but with your whole soul.  You must forget me—­forget yourself—­forget all but the grand object.  And this is a season of all others, when it is most needful to lead a life of piety, to look upon yourself as dead to this world, and to be ever prepared for that to come.  I shudder to think what might have been my portion had I perished in my sin.”

“Yours is a most happy frame of mind,” returned Leonard, “and I would I had a chance of attaining the same tranquillity.  But if you have conquered your love for the earl,—­if your heart is disengaged, why deny me a hope?”

“My heart is not disengaged, Leonard,” she replied; “it is engrossed by Heaven.  While the plague is raging around us thus—­while thousands are daily carried off by that devouring scourge—­and while every hour, every moment, may be our last, our thoughts ought always to be fixed above.  I have ceased to love the earl, but I can never love another, and therefore it would be unjust to you, to whom I owe so much, to hold out hopes that never can be realized.”

“Alas! alas!” cried Leonard, unable to control his emotion.

“Compose yourself, dear Leonard,” she cried, greatly moved.  “I would I could comply with your wishes.  But, alas!  I cannot.  I could only give you,” she added, in a tone so thrilling, that it froze the blood in his veins—­“a breaking, perhaps a broken heart!”

“Gracious heaven!” exclaimed Leonard, becoming as pale as death; “is it come to this?”

“Again, I beg you to compose yourself,” she rejoined, calmly—­“and I entreat you not to let what I have told you pass your lips.  I would not alarm my father, or my dear and anxious mother, on my account.  And there may be no reason for alarm.  Promise me, therefore, you will be silent.”