of joy and grief. It was long ere any of them had fortitude to pronounce the small, but much importing word, Adieu.—-Henry accompanied Jane to the end of the grove, and then left her for ever.
He pursued his journey to London, to which place, he informed his father and sister, that he was going to receive some money that a gentleman, to whom be had lent it about a twelve-month before, had remitted to his banker. When the time elapsed for Henry's return, the youth came not, Jane's anguish was insupportable, her family was alarmed by her pallid looks. She was ill, she pleaded indisposition; and to her own family she expressed her fears that Henry was false to his vows. Yet they knew not the extent of her misery, she would sooner have died than related her loss of innocence. How could she overwhelm her aged parents with anguish and bring a stain on a family whose virtue had been their boast! A letter came by the post to Mr Percival; its contents were like a thunder-clap to the old gentleman: Henry had embarked for the West Indies. The youth intreated ⟨his⟩ pardon, but assured him, that circumstances of an unpleasant nature, which he could not ⟨then⟩ explain, had obliged him to leave England, and repair to his relation abroad.
What Henry could not explain, was soon explained for him. Lucy too abruptly communicated the intelligence at the farm, and in the presence of the unfortunate Jane. Violent ⟨hysterics⟩
