The following morning Julia breakfasted in her own apartment, and Mr. Clifford and Charlotte returned soon after. Through the course of this day, Julia avoided, as much as was in her power, the sight of Seymour, for she trembled lest any discovery of his feelings should yet prevent the marriage, and earnestly wished for the arrival of the succeeding day, which would for ever unite him to another, and, by banishing all suspence and doubt, lead him to exert the constancy and resolution of his spirit. And she hoped, that when his situation was irrevocable, the certainty of its being so would prove a great and powerful antidote against the indulgence of unavailing regrets.

Mr. Clifford was in high spirits, and Chartres displayed, though somewhat in a bungling manner, his sympathy in the felicity of his friends. The whole house was a scene of general chearfulness; the servants were busy in adjusting their silver favours, and making preparations for the marriage day; and, as Charlotte was beloved by every individual in the family, all were solicitous and proud to display their joy and exultation.

Mean while, Seymour passed the day in the most violent struggles of passion, the most cruel conflict between honour and inclination. But, when we attempt to describe the struggles of passion, how inadequate is language to its purpose! – Where are the words that shall convey a just idea of the pangs of wounded affection? – Alas! the heart can feel more strongly than the imagination can paint; and, even while we heave the sigh of commiseration for the sufferer, we do not reflect on the full force of his sufferings. We cannot exactly judge of the bitterness of those moments when the overwhelmed spirit flies to solitude to give vent to its stifled agonies; when sorrow absorbs every faculty of the soul; when it rejects every thought of consolation, and finds a gloomy indulgence in nourishing its own wretchedness! Yet Seymour was obliged to appear not merely contented, but animated and happy.