The desertion of Hargrave, whom she had loved with all the ardour of a warm heart and a fervid imagination, the death of her father so fast approaching, her separation from every living being with whom she could claim friendship or kindred, seemed signals for her to withdraw her affections from a world where she would soon have nothing left to love or to cherish. 'And be it so,' thought she,--'let me no longer grovel here in search of objects which earth has not to offer--objects fitted for unbounded and unchangeable regard. Nor let me peevishly reject what this world really has to give, the opportunity to prepare for a better. This it bestows even on me; and a few childish baubles are all else that it reserves for those who worship it with all their soul, and strength, and mind.'
No mortal can exist without forming some wish or hope. Laura _hoped_ that she should live while she could be useful to her father; and she _wished_ that she might not survive him. One only other wish she had, and that was for De Courcy's return; for Montreville, whose spirits more than shared his bodily languor, now seldom spoke, but to express his longing for the presence of his favourite. Laura continued to cheer him with a hope which she herself no longer felt; for now three days only remained ere Mrs De Courcy was to quit London. The departure of their friends Laura resolved to conceal from her father, that, believing them to be near, he might feel himself the less forlorn; and this she thought might be practicable, as he had never since his illness expressed any wish to quit his bed, or to see Miss De Courcy when she came.
In Montreville's darkened apartment, without occupation but in her cares for him, almost without rest, had Laura passed a week, when she was one morning summoned from her melancholy charge, to attend a visitor. She entered the parlour. 'Mr De Courcy!' she exclaimed, springing joyfully to meet him, 'thank Heaven you are come!' But not with equal warmth did De Courcy accost her. The repulsive look she had given him at parting was still fresh in his recollection; and, with a respectful distant bow, he expressed his sorrow for Captain Montreville's illness. 'Oh he is ill, indeed!' said Laura, the faint hectic of pleasure fading suddenly from her cheek. 'Earnestly has he longed for your return; and we feared,' said she, with a violent effort suppressing her tears, 'we feared that you might not have come till--till all was over.' 'Surely Miss Montreville,' said De Courcy, extremely shocked, 'surely you are causelessly alarmed.' 'Oh no,' cried Laura, 'he cannot live!' and no longer able to contain her emotion, she burst into a passion of tears. Forced entirely from his guard by her grief, Montague threw himself on the seat beside her. 'Dearest of human beings,' he exclaimed, 'Oh that I could shield thee from every sorrow!' But absorbed in her distress, Laura heeded him not; and the next moment, sensible of his imprudence, he started from her side, and retreated to a distant part of the room.