Becoming more acquainted with the world, and moving continually in the society of young women of his own station, the young man felt that Isabella was a burden to him, and having as some would say, "outgrown his love," he longed to free himself of the responsibility; yet every time he saw the child, he felt that he owed it his fatherly care.
Henry had now entered into political life, and been elected to a seat in the legislature of his native State; and in his intercourse with his friends had become acquainted with Gertrude Miller, the daughter of a wealthy gentleman living near Richmond.

Both Henry and Gertrude were very good-looking, and a mutual attachment sprang up between them.
Instead of finding fault with the unfrequent visits of Henry, Isabella always met him with a smile, and tried to make both him and herself believe that business was the cause of his negligence.

When he was with her, she devoted every moment of her time to him, and never failed to speak of the growth and increasing intelligence of Clotelle.
The child had grown so large as to be able to follow its father on his departure out to the road.

But the impression made on Henry's feelings by the devoted woman and her child was momentary.

His heart had grown hard, and his acts were guided by no fixed principle.