done. He, who had never yielded a foot to an enemy on the field of
battle, quailed before the tornado of his lady's anger. He broke off the
negotiations for his marriage with Miss Sedley, who quickly found a
solace in the Duke of York's arms in spite of her lack of beauty, and
came back to the feet of his outraged lady on bended knees.

But if she was coy and cold before, she was unapproachable now. In vain
did he vow that he had never ceased to love her more than life--that he
adored her even more now in her anger than in her indifference.

"I vow to God," he wrote, "you do so entirely possess my
thoughts that I think of nothing else in this world but
your dear self. I do not, by all that is good, say this
that I think it will move you to pity me, for I do
despair of your love, but it is to let you see how unjust
you are, and that I must ever love you as long as I have
breath, do what you will. I do not expect in return that
you should either write or speak to me. I beg that you
will give me leave to do what I cannot help, which is to
adore you as long as I live; and in return I will study
how I may deserve, though not have, your love."

Was ever lover more abject, or ever maid so hard of heart, at least in
seeming? To this pathetic effusion, which ought to have melted the heart
of, and at least wrung forgiveness from, a sphinx, she retorted that he
had merely written it to amuse himself, and to "make her think that he
had an affection for her when she was assured he had none." At last,
however, importunity tells its tale. She consents to see him; but warns
him that