She reflected on the sentiments which he evidently entertained on these points, and her resentment vanished. She might, perhaps, deem his delicacy over-strained, but she knew, if he left the army, that he must forfeit, not only his fair hopes of fame and advancement, but also a large proportion of his income; and she could not blame him for being unwilling to subject her to the discomforts of a profession which he might not with any degree of prudence desert. But when she had arrived at this better understanding of Warenne’s motives, she was perplexed how to act. Her affections had been given; they could not be recalled; she could not retrace her steps; yet how proceed? She was ready to submit to whatever sacrifices might be necessary for the sake of him she loved, but till he afforded her an opportunity, by first openly declaring his own passion, she could not acquaint him with her determination. She longed to bid him throw aside his scruples, and give her liberty to decide in her own cause; but maidenly reserve prevented this virtual avowal of her preference for him—reserve which, in her shrinking and timid nature, might be with difficulty overcome, even under happier circumstances. There remained no alternative but to wait for Warenne’s proposals, though when he would make them, or whether he would make them at all, seemed a matter of uncertainty. He still lingered on in town, unable to tear himself from her presence, yet fearing to speak; living but for her society, yet far from satisfied in his own mind of the propriety of his continuing to seek it. At length, one morning that he called in Charles Street, to know if he might accompany Adelaide and her brother in their ride, he was so depressed in spirits that she could not avoid asking him, with some appearance of anxiety, if he was unwell. “I am, indeed, Miss Marston,” exclaimed he, forgetting for a moment his resolutions of prudence in the emotions which the kind manner of her inquiry had conjured up; “but not in body; I am ill in mind, displeased and angry with myself, for wanting the courage, when my duty and inclinations clash, to sacrifice the latter to the former; but I cannot do so, were my life the forfeit.” He spoke hastily and passionately; Adelaide made no reply, she did not even raise her eyes from the ground. Warenne looked at her earnestly for a moment, then feeling that as they were at present circumstanced, he had said either too much or too little, he resolved to proceed. He could not, however, utterly control the contradictory impulses which distracted his mind, and his words appeared to flow from despair, and scorn of his own presumption, rather than from love. “Tell me,” said he, “is not a man unjustifiable who would have another submit to sacrifices for his own welfare?”