Immediately on his arrival at New Orleans, Westfield wrote to Anna, but did not speak of the true nature of his feelings.  The letter touched upon all subjects but the one nearest to his heart.  Anna replied to it briefly, and with evident reserve.  This threw such a damper upon the young man, that he did not write again for nearly two months, and then not with the warmth and freedom that had distinguished his first letter.

Meantime, Miller grew more and more constant in his attentions to Anna:  To second these attentions, Philip W——­frequently alluded to his friend in terms of admiration.  Gradually Anna became interested in the young man, and pleased whenever he made her a visit.  When Westfield asked the privilege of opening a correspondence with her, she believed, from many corroborating circumstances, that he designed formally addressing her, and that the correspondence would lead to that result.  But as his letters, with the lapse of time, grew less and less frequent, and more constrained and formal, she was led to form a different opinion.  During all this time Miller’s attentions increased, and Anna’s feelings became more and more interested.  Finally, an offer of marriage was made, and, after due reflection accepted.  Three days afterward Miss W——­received the following letter:—­

“New Orleans, June.8th, 18—.

“My dear Anna,

“A letter from an intimate and mutual friend prompts me at once to open to you my whole heart.  For many months—­nay, for more than a year—­I have loved you with an ardour that has made your image ever present with me, sleeping or waking.  Often and often have I resolved to declare this sentiment, but a foolish weakness has hitherto kept me silent; and now the danger of losing you constrains me to speak out as abruptly as freely.  When I asked the privilege of opening a correspondence with you, it was that I might, in my very first epistle, say what I am now saying; but the same weakness and hesitation remained.  Many times I wrote all I wished to say, folded and sealed the letter, and—­cast it into the flames.  I had not the courage to send it.  Foolish weakness!  I tremble to think of the consequences that may follow.  Dear Anna!—­I will thus address you until you forbid the tender familiarity, and bid my yearning heart despair—­Dear Anna! write me at once and let me know my fate.  Do not wait for a second post.  Until I hear from you I shall be the most unhappy of mortals.  If your heart is still free—­if no promise to another has passed your lips, let me urge my suit by all the tenderest, holiest, and purest, considerations.  No one can love you with a fervour and devotion surpassing mine; no heart can beat responsive to your own more surely than mine; no one can cherish you in his heart of hearts, until life shall cease, more tenderly than I will cherish you.  But I will write no more.  Why need I?  I shall count the days and hours until your answer come.