My companion sighed at hearing the name of Nancy, and told me that she had left.
“Was she pretty when you knew her?”
“She was a beauty, but her loveliness was a fatal gift to her. Nancy was a close friend of mine, we loved each other tenderly; and perhaps our sympathy arose from the similarity of the fate in store for us. Nancy, too loving and too simple, is now, perhaps, even more unhappy than myself.”
“More unhappy? What do you mean?”
“Alas!”
“Is it possible that fate has treated you harshly? Is it possible that you can be unhappy with such a letter of commendation as nature has given you?”
“Alas! let us speak of something else.”
Her countenance was suffused with emotion. I pitied her in secret, and led the conversation back to Nancy.
“Tell me why you think Nancy is unhappy.”
“She ran away with a young man she loved; they despaired of gaining the parents’ consent to the match. Since her flight nothing has been heard of her, and you see I have some reason to fear that she is unhappy.”