“This is the mere ecstasy of passion, Julian,” answered Alice Bridgenorth; “that which is unpleasant, our selfish and stubborn will represents as impossible. I have no confidence in the plan you propose--no confidence in your resolution, and less than none in the protection of Deborah. Till you can renounce, honestly and explicitly, the wishes you have lately expressed, we must be strangers;--and could you renounce them even at this moment, it were better that we should part for a long time; and, for Heaven’s sake, let it be as soon as possible--perhaps it is even now too late to prevent some unpleasant accident--I thought I heard a noise.” “It was Deborah,” answered Julian. “Be not afraid, Alice; we are secure against surprise.” “I know not,” said Alice, “what you mean by such security--I have nothing to hide. I sought not this interview; on the contrary, averted it as long as I could--and am now most desirous to break it off.” “And wherefore, Alice, since you say it must be our last? Why should you shake the sand which is passing so fast? the very executioner hurries not the prayers of the wretches upon the scaffold.--And see you not--I will argue as coldly as you can desire--see you not that you are breaking your own word, and recalling the hope which yourself held out to me?” “What hope have I suggested? What word have I given, Julian?” answered Alice. “You yourself build wild hopes in the air, and accuse me of destroying what had never any earthly foundation. Spare yourself, Julian--spare me--and in mercy to us both depart, and return not again till you can be more reasonable.” “Reasonable?” replied Julian; “it is you, Alice, who will deprive me altogether of reason. Did you not say, that if our parents could be brought to consent to our union, you would no longer oppose my suit?” “No--no--no,” said Alice eagerly, and blushing deeply,--“I did not say so, Julian--it was your own wild imagination which put construction on my silence and my confusion.” “You do _not_ say so, then?” answered Julian; “and if all other obstacles were removed, I should find one in the cold flinty bosom of her who repays the most devoted and sincere affection with contempt and dislike?--Is that,” he added, in a deep tone of feeling--“is that what Alice Bridgenorth says to Julian Peveril?” “Indeed--indeed, Julian,” said the almost weeping girl, “I do not say so--I say nothing, and I ought not to say anything concerning what I might do, in a state of things which can never take place. Indeed, Julian, you ought not thus to press me. Unprotected as I am--wishing you well--very well--why should you urge me to say or do what would lessen me in my own eyes? to own affection for one from whom fate has separated me for ever? It is ungenerous--it is cruel--it is seeking a momentary and selfish gratification to yourself, at the expense of every feeling which I ought to entertain.”