Glanville was, as usual, alone: his countenance was less pale than it had
been lately, and when I saw it brighten as I approached, I hoped, in the
new happiness of my heart, that he might baffle both his enemy and his
disease.

I told him all that had just occurred between Ellen and myself. "And
now," said I, as I clasped his hand, "I have a proposal to make, to which
you must accede: let me accompany you abroad; I will go with you to
whatever corner of the world you may select. We will plan together every
possible method of concealing our retreat. Upon the past I will never
speak to you. In your hours of solitude I will never disturb you by an
unwelcome and ill-timed sympathy. I will tend upon you, watch over you,
bear with you, with more than the love and tenderness of a brother. You
shall see me only when you wish it. Your loneliness shall never be
invaded. When you get better, as I presage you will, I will leave you to
come back to England, and provide for the worst, by ensuring your sister
a protector. I will then return to you alone, that your seclusion may not
be endangered by the knowledge, even of Ellen, and you shall have me by
your side till--till--"

"The last!" interrupted Glanville. "Too--too generous Pelham, I feel--
these tears (the first I have shed for a long, long time) tell you, that
I feel to the heart--your friendship and disinterested attachment; but
the moment your love for Ellen has become successful, I will not tear you
from its enjoyment. Believe me, all that I could derive from your
society, could not afford me half the happiness I should have in knowing
that you and Ellen were blest in each other. No--no, my solitude will, at
that reflection, be deprived of its sting. You shall hear from me once
again; my letter shall contain a request, and your executing that last
favour must console and satisfy the kindness of your heart. For myself, I