"I feared nothing," answered Dora haughtily; "my own dignity prevented a false construction being placed upon what I said or did. You are a child in the ways of the world, and, in your innocence, might compromise yourself, family, all, with this nameless man. I do not say any thing personally against him, but _our_ name has ever been without stain; do not you, Minnie, by a base alliance, stamp it with a reproach." "Dora," and the girl spoke low and impressively, "I may never, perhaps, meet Miles Tremenhere again; I feel certain, if I do, that only trouble will arise from it, for all seem against him, poor fellow; but this believe, that, if I truly know myself--if that man love me, unless I become his wife, I never will marry another; for he is so surrounded in my heart by every noble sentiment, from his wrongs, and the holy mission he has taken upon himself, that none other could hold the place in my esteem which he does. Do you know, Dora, I thought you loved him, and for that reason I dreaded my own heart's inclination towards him; now I am assured you do not, I seek no longer to check my affections; for though I may never be his wife, there can be no error in my love, for I never shall marry another." Dora could not reply. The brow contracted--the cheek slightly flushed as in scorn--and then she grew pale and calm. "It is useless speaking to you," she said, after a thoughtful pause; "not now, at least--to-morrow we will resume our conversation. I will leave you now, Minnie; I do not wish my mother to know I have been here--she would question me, and I wish this conversation unknown to her." She rose hastily, as if some newly-formed plan impelled her to do so. "Good-night, dear cousin, and pray, think of all I have said; 'tis fondly meant."