While thus employed, Ferrers joined him, and offered his aid, and on Louis' accepting it, said in a low tone,-- "Louis, I am a wretch, I am so very miserable.

I can't think how you can bear so much from one who has never done you any thing but harm." Louis raised his head from his work in astonishment, and saw that Ferrers looked as he said, very miserable, and was deadly pale.
"I do so despise myself--to see you bearing all so sweetly, Louis.

I should have been different, perhaps, if I had known you before--I love, I admire you, as much as I hate myself." "Are you coming with the candle there ?" cried a voice from above: "Louis Mortimer and William Ferrers in deep confabulation--wonders will never cease." Ferrers jumped up and ran up stairs with his candle, and Louis followed more leisurely to his own room, nor could any thing induce him that night to tell a story.

How long and earnest was his prayer for one who had injured him so cruelly, but towards whom he now, instead of resentment, felt only pity and interest! Ferrers, after tossing from side to side, and trying all schemes for several hours, in vain, to drown his remorse in sleep, at last, at daybreak, sank into an uneasy slumber.

The image of Louis, and his mute expression of patient sorrow that evening, haunted him, and he felt an indefinable longing to be like him, and a horror of himself in comparison with him.