But he thought also of the beauty of Maria,
of the sweetness of her smile, and of the tears of voiceless gratitude
which he had seen bedimming the lustre of her bright eyes.
He had promised to call again at her father's on the day after the
accident; and with an ardent kindliness, Mr. Sim had welcomed him to do
so. But he went forth, he wandered by the side of the lake, he
approached within sight of the house, there was a contention of strange
feelings in his breast, and he returned without paying his promised
visit. Nevertheless, thoughts of Maria haunted him, and her image
mingled with all his fancies. She became as a spirit in his memory that
he could not expel, and that he would not if he could.
Three weeks passed on--it was evening--the sun was sinking behind the
mountains, and Lieutenant Morris was wandering through a wooded vale,
towards Mr. Sim's mansion; for though he entered it not, he nightly drew
towards it, as if instinctively, wandering around it, and gazing on its
windows as he did so, marvelling as he gazed. He was absorbed in one of
those dreamy reveries in which men saunter, speak, and muse
unconsciously, when, in following the windings of a footpath which led
through a thicket, he suddenly found himself in the presence of a young
lady, who was walking slowly across the wood with a book in her hand.
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