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I found her, one evening, alone in the garden, sitting in a bower, plunged in a deep reverie. I advanced, and perceiving she had been weeping, I asked her the cause of her Inquietude? She sighed: Zumio, replied she, has just left me; I saw he was dissatisfied with me, and that afflicts me.

Dissatisfied! said I with extreme pleasure: Why?

Rosamond made me no answer, except by a look of indignation. In vain did I press and question her; she was obstinately silent. Hope entered my heart; Zumio was dissatisfied; Rosamond durst not speak; I imagined she read my heart and was affected; all my resolutions, all the obligations I had to Zumio's attachment were forgotten. I fell at her feet and declared my love in the most passionate terms. I could obtain no answer, but neither could I observe the colouring of anger on the beauteous cheeks of Rosamond; on the contrary, I thought her eyes spoke satisfaction. I again solicited an answer with fresh ardour; Rosamond, still mute, made a

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