ABSTRACT
The pensive, or rather gloomy disposition in which Walsingham wrote, was but too congenial to the feelings of his unhappy correspondent, who passed the rest of the day in her house, indulging melancholy reflections. She was glad, however, that he was gone an excursion likely to divert his thoughts, and knew that nothing so effectually won him from himself as such a generous service as he was now engaged in. The following day arose, and found her in the same dejected state of mind; left alone, without even the expectation of seeing Walsingham, or of hearing any intelligence, which, he assured her, he would not fail to attempt collecting as to Montalbert, or Charles Vyvian, she had nothing to look forward to but the answer she yet hoped to receive from Mrs. Lessington; and she reckoned daily when the course of the post might give her, at least, this melancholy satisfaction.
