that the object of her fears no longer rendered himself visible. But Rosilia herself, however, remained perfectly unconscious of those powerful emotions, stamping her image upon his soul, and still leading him to the pursuit of her; for no sooner had he dismissed his troublesome companion, and found himself at freedom, than he retraced his footsteps to Portland Place.
Again, in passing the windows, he beholds that form, or rather but the shade of that form, so imperfectly developed, yet entrancing his soul, as by some magical enchantment. She moves, he follows her motions; she passes to and fro, and fancy pictures the exquisite graces attending her. She draws towards the door of the apartment, she leaves it, she has vanished; enwrapt in contemplation, he gazes as if that lovely form still filled his vision. A confused tumult of thought seizes him, and he is at a loss upon what to determine. His existence seems to depend upon an introduction, and that immediately; but how obtain it? and by whom?
In the perplexity of his ideas, unable to endure so torturing a suspense, a sudden revolution seizes him. He advances towards the door,—he raises the knocker—his hand trembles, but it has performed his office; a female servant presents herself; her
