love—of joy—and of gratitude, pressed with the weight of magic upon William’s heart; amidst these his midnight purpose slipped away from his thoughts; and it was in the middle of the gayest conversation, upon the clock striking twelve, that William was first reminded with horror of the business he had neglected.
“Just one night more,” thought he, “one single night remains: to-morrow, or never!” His violent agitation did not escape his uncle’s notice; but the old man ascribed it to some little weariness in his nephew, and good-naturedly apologized for having engaged him so long in conversation, by pleading his early departure, which he could not possibly put off beyond the first dawn of the next morning.
“Think not much of an odd hour or two thrown away,” said he to William on separating: “maybe you’ll sleep all the better for it.”
These last words had a deeper import to William’s thoughts than could possibly have been meant by his uncle. He saw in them an
