He charms even without intending it, and in spite of himself; but when he wishes to please, when he addresses the woman he loves, when his eyes speak the soft language of his heart, when your Emily reads in them the dear confession of his tenderness, when that melodious voice utters the sentiments of the noblest mind that ever animated a human form—­My dearest, the eloquence of angels cannot paint my Rivers as he is.

I am almost inclined not to go to the governor’s to-night; I am determined not to dance till Rivers returns, and I know there are too many who will be ready to make observations on my refusal:  I think I will stay at home, and write to him against Monday’s post:  I have a thousand things to say, and you know we are continually interrupted at Quebec; I shall have this evening to myself, as all the world will be at the governor’s.

      Adieu, your faithful
          Emily Montague.

LETTER 121.

To Miss Montague, at Quebec.

Silleri, Thursday morning.

I dare say, my dear, Madame Des Roches has not heard from Rivers; but suppose she had.  If he loves you, of what consequence is it to whom he writes?  I would not for the world any friend of yours should ask her such a question.

I shall call upon you at six o’clock, and shall expect to find you determined to go to the governor’s this evening, and to dance:  Fitzgerald begs the honor of being your partner.

Believe me, Emily, these kind of unmeaning sacrifices are childish; your heart is new to love, and you have all the romance of a girl:  Rivers would, on your account, be hurt to hear you had refused to dance in his absence, though he might be flattered to know you had for a moment entertained such an idea.

I pardon you for having the romantic fancies of seventeen, provided you correct them with the good sense of four and twenty.

Adieu!  I have engaged myself to Colonel H——­, on the presumption that you are too polite to refuse to dance with Fitzgerald, and too prudent to refuse to dance at all.

      Your affectionate
          A. Fermor.

LETTER 122.

To Miss Fermor, at Silleri.

Quebec, Saturday morning.

How unjust have I been in my hatred of Madame Des Roches! she spent yesterday with us, and after dinner desired to converse with me an hour in my apartment, where she opened to me all her heart on the subject of her love for Rivers.

She is the noblest and most amiable of women, and I have been in regard to her the most capricious and unjust:  my hatred of her was unworthy my character; I blush to own the meanness of my sentiments, whilst I admire the generosity of hers.

Why, my dear, should I have hated her? she was unhappy, and deserved rather my compassion:  I had deprived her of all hope of being beloved, it was too much to wish to deprive her also of his conversation.  I knew myself the only object of Rivers’s love; why then should I have envied her his friendship? she had the strongest reason to hate me, but I should have loved and pitied her.