Still, though he had cleared away the two first great obstacles, I saw there was some greater yet unnamed. I thought it was the difference of our religion. We were both silent, and the difficulty seemed to me at this moment greater, and more formidable, than it had ever yet appeared. While I was considering how I should touch upon the subject, Mr. Montenero turned to me and said, “I hate all mysteries, and yet I cannot be perfectly explicit with you, Mr. Harrington; as far as I possibly can, however, I will speak with openness--with sincerity, you may depend upon it, I have always spoken, and ever shall speak. You must have perceived that your company is particularly agreeable to me. Your manners, your conversation, your liberal spirit, and the predilection you have shown for my society--the politeness, the humanity, you showed my daughter the first evening you met--and the partiality for her, which a father’s eye quickly perceived that you felt, altogether won upon my heart. My regard for you has been strengthened and confirmed by the temper, prudence, and generosity, I have seen you evince towards a rival. I have studied your character, and I think I know it as thoroughly as I esteem and value it. If I were to choose a son-in-law after my own heart, you should be the man. Spare me your thanks--spare me this joy,” continued he; “I have now only said what it was just to say--just to you and to myself.” He spoke with difficulty and great emotion, as he went on to say, that he feared he had acted very imprudently for my happiness in permitting, in encouraging me to see so much of his daughter; for an obstacle--he feared an obstacle that--His voice almost failed. “I am aware of it,” said I. “Aware of it?” said he, looking up at me suddenly with astonishment: he repeated more calmly, “Aware of it? Let us understand one another, my dear sir.” “I understand you perfectly,” cried I. “I am well aware of the nature of the obstacle. At once I declare that I can make no sacrifice, no compromise of my religious principles, to my passion.” “You would be unworthy of my esteem if you could,” said Mr. Montenero. “I rejoice to hear this declaration unequivocally made; this is what I expected from you.” “But,” continued I, eagerly, “Miss Montenero could be secure of the free exercise of her own religion. You know my principles of toleration--you know my habits; and though between man and wife a difference of religion may be in most cases a formidable obstacle to happiness, yet permit me to hope--” “I cannot permit you to hope,” interrupted Mr. Montenero. “You are mistaken as to the nature of the obstacle. A difference of religion would be a most formidable objection, I grant; but we need not enter upon that subject--that is not the obstacle to which I allude.” “Then of what nature can it be? Some base slander--Lord Mowbray--Nothing shall prevent me!” cried I, starting up furiously.