le he might not give her a single SOUS; nor
did it appear the least likely, that Mr. Temple would agree to her union
with a young man on the point of embarking for the feat of war.

Montraville therefore concluded it was impossible he should ever marry
Charlotte Temple; and what end he proposed to himself by continuing the
acquaintance he had commenced with her, he did not at that moment give
himself time to enquire.

CHAPTER XI.

CONFLICT OF LOVE AND DUTY.

ALMOST a week was now gone, and Charlotte continued every evening to
meet Montraville, and in her heart every meeting was resolved to be the
last; but alas! when Montraville at parting would earnestly intreat one
more interview, that treacherous heart betrayed her; and, forgetful
of its resolution, pleaded the cause of the enemy so powerfully, that
Charlotte was unable to resist. Another and another meeting succeeded;
and so well did Montraville improve each opportunity, that the heedless
girl at length confessed no idea could be so painful to her as that of
never seeing him again.

"Then we will never be parted," said he.

"Ah, Montraville," replied Charlotte, forcing a smile, "how can it be
avoided? My parents would never consent to our union; and even could
they be brought to approve it, how should I bear to be separated from my
kind, my beloved mother?"

"Then you love your parents more than you do me, Charlotte?"

"I hope I do," said she, blushing and looking down, "I hope my affection
for them will ever keep me from infringing the laws of filial duty."

"Well, Charlotte," said Montraville gravely, and letting go her hand,
"since that is the case, I find I have deceived myself with fallacious
hopes. I had flattered my fond heart, that I was dearer to Charlotte
than any thing in the world beside. I thought that you would for my sake
have braved the dangers of the ocean, that you would, by your affection
and smiles, have softened the hardships of war, and, had it been my fate
to fall, that your tenderness would cheer the hour of death, and smooth
my passage to another world. But farewel, Charlotte! I see you never
loved me. I shall now welcome the friendly ball that deprives me of the
sense of my misery."

"Oh stay, unkind Montraville," cried she, catching hold of his arm, as
he pretended to leave her, "stay, and to calm your fears, I will here
protest that was it not for the fear of giving pain to the best of
parents, and returning their kindne