As he spoke, his eyes fixed with an expression of concentrated rage upon Russell. Terrified by Vivian’s sudden appearance and strange address, and still more by the fierce look he cast on Russell, Lady Julia started and uttered a faint scream. With astonishment, but without losing his self-command, Russell advanced towards Vivian, saying, “You are out of your senses, my dear friend!--I will not listen to you in your present humour. Take a turn or two with me to cool yourself. The anger of a friend should always be allowed three minutes’ grace, at least,” added Russell, smiling, and endeavouring to draw Vivian away: but Vivian stood immoveable; Russell’s calmness, instead of bringing him to his senses, only increased his anger; to his distempered imagination this coolness seemed perfidious dissimulation. “You cannot deceive me longer, Mr. Russell, by all your art!” cried he. “Though I am the last to open my eyes, I have opened them. Why did you pretend to be my counsellor and friend, when you were my rival?--when you knew that you were my successful rival?----Yes, start and affect astonishment! Yes--look, if you can, with _innocent_ surprise upon that lady!--Say that you have not betrayed her father’s confidence!--say, that you have not practised upon her unguarded heart!--say, that you do not know that she loves you to distraction!” “Oh! Mr. Vivian, what have you done?” cried Lady Julia: she could say no more, but fell senseless on the ground. Vivian’s anger was at once sobered by this sight. “What have I done!” repeated he, as they raised her from the ground. “Wretch! dishonourable villain that I am! I have betrayed her secret--But I thought every body knew it!----Is it possible that _you_ did not know it, Russell?” Russell made no reply, but ran to the river which was near them for some water--Vivian was incapable of affording any assistance, or even of forming a distinct idea. As soon as Lady Julia returned to her senses, Russell withdrew; Vivian threw himself on his knees before her, and said something about the violence of his passion--his sorrow--and her forgiveness. “Mr. Vivian,” said Lady Julia, turning to him with a mixture of despair and dignity in her manner, “do not kneel to me; do not make use of any commonplace phrases--I cannot, at this moment, forgive you--you have done me an irreparable injury. I confided a secret to you--a secret known to no human being but my father and yourself--you have revealed it, and to whom?--Sooner would I have had it proclaimed to the whole world than to ----; for what is the opinion of the whole world to me, compared to his?--Sir, you have done me, indeed, an irremediable injury!--I trusted to your honour--your discretion--and you have betrayed, sacrificed me.” “Vile suspicions!” cried Vivian, striking his forehead: “how could I listen to them for a moment!”