From this society, so uncongenial to my reflecting, reasoning, mind, I found some resource in the conversation of Mr Francis. The pride of Montague was evidently piqued by the decided preference which I gave to the company of his friend; but his homage, or his resentment, were alike indifferent to me: accustomed to speak and act from my convictions, I was but little solicitous respecting the opinion of others. My understanding was exercised by attending to the observations of Mr Francis, and by discussing the questions to which they led; yet it was exercised without being gratified: he opposed and bewildered me, convicted me of error, and harrassed me with doubt.

Mr Francis soon after prepared to return to town. I was affected at the idea of his departure; and felt, that in losing his society, I should be deprived of my only rational recreation, and should again be exposed to Mrs Morton's illiberal attacks, who appeared to have marked me out for her victim, though at present restrained by the presence of a man, who had found means to inspire, even her, with some degree of respect.

Mr Francis, on the evening preceding the day on which he purposed leaving Morton Park, passing under the open window of my chamber, in which I was sitting with a book to enjoy the refreshing breeze, invited me to come down, and accompany him in a ramble. I immediately complied with his request, and joined him in a few minutes, with a countenance clouded with regret at the idea of his quitting us.

'You are going,' said I, as I gave him my hand (which he passed under his arm), 'and I lose my friend and counsellor.'

'Your concern is obliging; but you are capable of standing alone, and your mind, by so doing, will acquire strength.'

'I feel as if this would not be the case: the world appears to me a thorny and pathless wilderness; I step with caution, and look around me with dread.—That I require protection and assistance is, I confess, a proof of weakness, but it is nevertheless true.'

'Mr Montague,' replied he, with some degree of archness in his tone and manner, 'is a gallant knight, a pattern of chivalry, and appears to be particularly calculated for the defender of distressed damsels!'

'I have no inclination to trust myself to the guidance of one, who seems himself entangled in an inextricable maze of error, and whose versatile character affords little basis for confidence.'

'Tell me what it is you fear;—are your apprehensions founded in reason?'

'Recollect my youth, my sex, and my precarious situation.'