Agitated and confused beyond expression I bent my steps towards the garden. The benignity with which the Baroness had listened to me at first raised my hopes to the highest pitch: I imagined her to have perceived my attachment for her niece, and to approve of it. Extreme was my disappointment at understanding the true purport of her discourse. I knew not what course to take: the superstition of the parents of Agnes, aided by her aunt’s unfortunate passion, seemed to oppose such obstacles to our union as were almost insurmountable.

As I passed by a low parlour, whose windows looked into the garden, through the door which stood half open I observed Agnes seated at a table. She was occupied in drawing, and several unfinished sketches were scattered round her. I entered, still undetermined whether I should acquaint her with the declaration of the Baroness.

“Oh! is it only you?” said she, raising her head; “You are no stranger, and I shall continue my occupation without ceremony. Take a chair, and seat yourself by me.”