That unhappy passion which Frederick Seymour cherished, gained every day a more fatal ascendancy over his mind. To him every hour seemed lost that was not spent in Julia's society; for life, in his estimation, had no other value. The only ideas of pleasure and pain in his mind, were her presence, or her absence: for when he saw and conversed with her, he desired nothing more on earth; and when she was absent, he no longer felt any distinction or choice of amusement or society. All other objects were to him alike indifferent; and the most agreeable company had as little power to give him entertainment, as the most insipid.

Mean time, Charlotte had too high an opinion of Julia's graces and accomplishments, and thought too meanly of her own, to believe she could ever regain the heart of Seymour. Every gleam of hope forsook her bosom: but she had sufficient command over her feelings to appear tranquil. She shuddered at the thoughts of betraying, by her looks, that acute anguish which had sunk into her soul; nor did her countenance discover those marks of agitation which a lighter affliction would naturally have impressed upon it. When a storm first arises, it throws deep lines of darkness amidst the struggling sun-beams; but when the gathered tempest has blotted out every ray, there is no longer any appearance of shadow.

Charlotte had sufficient fortitude to bear her misery without complaint; but she could not conquer her feelings, though she endeavoured to suppress them. She sometimes received Julia with great coldness, and sometimes, from an impulse of jealousy, was at pains to prevent her from being placed near Seymour. This he perceived with resentment; and Julia, though she thankfully seconded Charlotte's intentions, discerned them with anguish.

One evening, when Charlotte had company, Julia, whose spirits were deeply depressed, appeared uncommonly grave.