He led me to my seat, and taking his by me, still holding my passive hand—­Ever since I have had the honour of Miss Byron’s acquaintance, I have considered her as one of the most excellent of women.  My heart demands alliance with hers, and hopes to be allowed its claim; though such are the delicacies of situation, that I scarcely dare to trust myself to speak upon the subject.  From the first, I called Miss Byron my sister; but she is more to me than the dearest sister; and there is a more tender friendship that I aspire to hold with her, whatever may be the accidents, on either side, to bar a further wish:  and this I must hope, that she will not deny me, so long as it shall be consistent with her other attachments.

He paused.  I made an effort to speak:  but speech was denied me.  My face, as I felt, glowed like the fire before me.

My heart, resumed he, is ever on my lips.  It is tortured when I cannot speak all that is in it.  Professions I am not accustomed to make.  As I am not conscious of being unworthy of your friendship, I will suppose it; and further talk to you of my affairs and engagements, as that tender friendship may warrant.

Sir, you do me honour, was all I could say.

I had a letter from the faithful Camilla.  I hold not a correspondence with her:  but the treatment that her young lady met with, of which she had got some general intimations, and some words that the bishop said to her, which expressed his wishes, that I would make them one more visit at Bologna, urged her to write, begging of me, for Heaven’s sake, to go over.  But unless one of the family had written to me, and by consent of others of it, what hope had I of a welcome, after I had been as often refused, as I had requested while I was in Italy, to be admitted to the presence of the lady, who was so desirous of one interview more?—­ Especially, as Mrs. Beaumont gave me no encouragement to go, but the contrary, from what she observed of the inclinations of the family.

Mrs. Beaumont is still of opinion, as in the conclusion of the letter before you, that I should not go, unless the general and the marquis join their requests to those of the marchioness, the bishop, and Father Marescotti.  But I had no sooner perused the bishop’s letter, than I wrote, that I would most cheerfully comply with his wishes:  but that I should be glad that I might not be under any obligation to go further than Bologna; where I might have the happiness to attend my Jeronymo, as well as his sister.

I had a little twitch at my heart, Lucy.  I was sorry for it:  but my judgment was entirely with him.