“That, I am sure,” said Virginia, bursting again into tears, “that, I am sure, I do not wish, unless _he_ does.” “He does, he does, my dear--do not let this delicacy of yours, which has been wound up too high, make you miserable. He thought of you, he loved you long and long ago.” “He is very good, too good,” said Virginia, sobbing. “Nay, what is more--for I can keep nothing from you--he has been educating you all this time on purpose for his wife, and he only waits till your education is finished, and till he is sure that you feel no repugnance for him.” “I should be very ungrateful if I felt any repugnance for him,” said Virginia; “I feel none.” “Oh, that you need not assure me,” said Mrs. Ormond. “But I do not wish to marry him--I do not wish to marry.” “You are a modest girl to say so; and this modesty will make you ten times more amiable, especially in Mr. Hervey’s eyes. Heaven forbid that I should lessen it!” The next morning Virginia, who always slept in the same room with Mrs. Ormond, wakened her, by crying out in her sleep, with a voice of terror, “Oh, save him!--save Mr. Hervey!--Mr. Hervey!--forgive me! forgive me!” Mrs. Ormond drew back the curtain, and saw Virginia lying fast asleep; her beautiful face convulsed with agony. “He’s dead!--Mr. Hervey!” cried she, in a voice of exquisite distress: then starting up, and stretching out her arms, she uttered a piercing cry, and awoke. “My love, you have been dreaming frightfully,” said Mrs. Ormond. “Is it all a dream?” cried Virginia, looking round fearfully. “All a dream, my dear!” said Mrs. Ormond, taking her hand. “I am very, very glad of it!--Let me breathe. It was, indeed, a frightful dream!” “Your hand still trembles,” said Mrs. Ormond; “let me put back this hair from your poor face, and you will grow cool, and forget this foolish dream.” “No; I must tell it you. I ought to tell it you. But it was all so confused, I can recollect only some parts of it. First, I remember that I thought I was not myself, but the Virginia that we were reading of the other night; and I was somewhere in the Isle of France. I thought the place was something like the forest where my grandmother’s cottage used to be, only there were high mountains and rocks, and cocoa-trees and plantains.” “Such as you saw in the prints of that book?” “Yes; only beautiful, beautiful beyond description! And it was moonlight, brighter and clearer than any moonlight I ever before had seen; and the air was fresh yet perfumed; and I was seated under the shade of a plane-tree, beside Virginia’s fountain.” “Just as you are in your picture?” “Yes: but Paul was seated beside me.” “Paul!” said Mrs. Ormond, smiling: “that is Mr. Hervey.”