Without saying a word more, she waited till Sir Edgar should unfold, at his own prompture, whatever he might have to communicate. Though Sir Edgar had before determined what he would say, her patient bearing so moved him, that he now faltered, and several minutes elapsed before he could proceed. At length, however, he opened his communication; and, acquiring more firmness as he progressed, disclosed to her all that he had just learned from Don Felix. Evaline heard him to an end without interruption. Occasionally, indeed, as the more remarkable features of his tale were unfolded, she raised her dim eyes, and fixed a momentary glance on his face; but she never spoke a word. She knew that it was all true; she would have given her life--ay, her very life--if she could even have doubted it; but it carried conviction and reality in every single particular. She sat in her chair like a statue--as still, as composed, and almost as unconscious. One would have thought, from her unruffled look, that she was indifferent to her father’s tidings--that she was quite calm and composed; but the calmness and composure were despair! Her father paused when he had finished his communication, expecting, from the hint he had received from Don Felix, that she would swoon with grief, or, at the least, burst into tears. Deceived by her seeming composure, however, he supposed that it affected her only as far as, being so contrary to what she had looked for, it shook her opinion of a lately esteemed friend; and, under this impression, he pursued his discourse less tenderly. “Didst thou love this man, Evaline?” he said. “Love him?” exclaimed Evaline, wringing her clasped hands. “O! God! how dearly!” Sir Edgar turned pale with surprise. “Thou shouldst have told me this afore,” he said, reproachingly. “He besought me to conceal it for a time,” answered Evaline, “as he had that in view, he said, which would make his fortune equal mine, and insure him your favour.” Sir Edgar bit his lips, and mused a moment. He then stepped up to Evaline’s chair, and, there pausing, took her hand in his. “Thou know’st I have thy welfare at heart, my child!” he said. “Right well,” replied Evaline, calmly, yet without looking up. “And if I ask thee to do a thing I have dreamed of for years, and which will make my last days pass lightly, wilt thou cry me nay?” asked Sir Edgar. “God forbid, father?” returned Evaline. “See, then!” resumed Sir Edgar. “I have long thought to wed thee to thy brave friend and coz, Don Felix.”--Evaline started.--“Thou wilt not, now I am old and lonely, deny me the joy of seeing thee happy?” Evaline looked up; and Sir Edgar, though he had observed that his proposal moved her, was taken by surprise at the despair revealed in her gaze, and shrank back apace. “My heart is breaking, father,” she said. “Do not--oh! do not thou pain it more! Beseech thee, as thou lovest me, name not this match again!”