“I thought you had forgot me, Montraville,” said she, “and was very unhappy.”

“I shall never forget you, Charlotte,” he replied, pressing her hand.

The uncommon gravity of his countenance, and the brevity of his reply, alarmed her.

“You are not well,” said she; “your hand is hot; your eyes are heavy; you are very ill.”

“I am a villain,” said he mentally, as he turned from her to hide his emotions.

“But come,” continued she tenderly, “you shall go to bed, and I will sit by, and watch you; you will be better when you have slept.”

Montraville was glad to retire, and by pretending sleep, hide the agitation of his mind from her penetrating eye.  Charlotte watched by him till a late hour, and then, lying softly down by his side, sunk into a profound sleep, from whence she awoke not till late the next morning.

CHAPTER XX.

     Virtue never appears so amiable as when reaching forth
     her hand to raise a fallen sister.

CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.

When Charlotte awoke, she missed Montraville; but thinking he might have arisen early to enjoy the beauties of the morning, she was preparing to follow him, when casting her eye on the table, she saw a note, and opening it hastily, found these words—­

“My dear Charlotte must not be surprised, if she does not see me again for some time:  unavoidable business will prevent me that pleasure:  be assured I am quite well this morning; and what your fond imagination magnified into illness, was nothing more than fatigue, which a few hours rest has entirely removed.  Make yourself happy, and be certain of the unalterable friendship of

“Montraville.”

“Friendship!” said Charlotte emphatically, as she finished the note, “is it come to this at last?  Alas! poor, forsaken Charlotte, thy doom is now but too apparent.  Montraville is no longer interested in thy happiness; and shame, remorse, and disappointed love will henceforth be thy only attendants.”

Though these were the ideas that involuntarily rushed upon the mind of Charlotte as she perused the fatal note, yet after a few hours had elapsed, the syren Hope again took possession of her bosom, and she flattered herself she could, on a second perusal, discover an air of tenderness in the few lines he had left, which at first had escaped her notice.

“He certainly cannot be so base as to leave me,” said she, “and in styling himself my friend does he not promise to protect me.  I will not torment myself with these causeless fears; I will place a confidence in his honour; and sure he will not be so unjust as to abuse it.”