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 not bear to be one day the object of his particular notice, and the next of his pointed neglect. She accordingly placed herself at the card-table, in such a manner as to prevent his sitting by her; and, with a look of unutterable disappointment, he turned away, and entered into conversation with Olivia, if that could be called conversation, which consisted, on one side, of laconic answers, and, on the other, of questions relative to the motives which made him so fond of solitary rambles.

Unable to bear the dejection of his looks, Madeline fixed her eyes upon the card-table, as if intently watching the game, though in reality she knew not what was played. But she could not, by this measure, save her heart from one pang; for, though her eye was averted from the melancholy of his countenance, her ear was still open to the soft melancholy of his voice; and scarcely could she conceal the emotions it gave her. The entrance of a servant with a letter to her, that instant