This paper will serve instead of a confidential friend into whose ear I might pour forth the overflowings of my heart.

It will not sympathise with my distresses, but then it will not laugh at them, and, if I keep it close, it cannot tell again; so it is, perhaps, the best friend I could have for the purpose.
First, let me speak of his arrival--how I sat at my window, and watched for nearly two hours, before his carriage entered the park-gates--for they all came before him,--and how deeply I was disappointed at every arrival, because it was not his.

First came Mr.Wilmot and the ladies.
When Milicent had got into her room, I quitted my post a few minutes to look in upon her and have a little private conversation, for she was now my intimate friend, several long epistles having passed between us since our parting.

On returning to my window, I beheld another carriage at the door.

Was it his?
No; it was Mr.Boarham's plain dark chariot; and there stood he upon the steps, carefully superintending the dislodging of his various boxes and packages.