“My dear Miss Wilton,” he said, in a somewhat tremulous tone, “do not over-rate my services; I was excited by the occurrence, and acted upon an impulse.” “A noble one, Mr. Vivian.” “But not uncommon. Thousands would have done as I have done, had they similar opportunities, and I should have exerted myself equally had you been an entire stranger to me.” “That I believe,” said Flora, innocently and praise-fully. “That is to say,” continued Hal, correcting himself, for he did not quite like her to entertain that belief, “my impression is that I should. I must acknowledge, Miss Wilton, that knowing you, as I have had the honour of doing for some time, I had an additional incentive to endeavour to snatch you from an awful death. I very much congratulate myself that I succeeded, and I pray you to believe that you cannot be more overjoyed at my good fortune than myself. Thank God, you are safe, and I hope almost recovered from the fright. We will let the past go, and cast an eye upon the future.” “I have already done so,” interposed Flora. “I do not dispute it, my dear Miss Wilton,” returned he, speaking quietly yet firmly, as though to drown all opposition; “but my uncle has been beforehand with you. He is a man of the world, and knows much; he is a wealthy man, too, Miss Wilton, and can well afford to be kind, considerate, and generous. He is quite alive to the very embarrassing position in which the late sad disaster has placed you, and he is anxious that you should not experience its inconvenience during the interval which must elapse between any arrangements you may be able to make hereafter for your future course. He has laid out his plans, with which you are connected; he confesses that they are not without a little selfishness in them, but he is wishful that you should overlook that, and not offer any opposition to the proposal he has empowered me to make to you.” He, then, in the most delicate words he was able to employ, laid before her his uncle’s plan, and begged her to assent to it. To have refused, under present circumstances, would have been simply a preposterous absurdity; she had no such notion, but she felt this additional kindness most acutely. She remained silent, because she felt that she should sob as she spoke, if she attempted to give utterance to her feelings. She turned her large eyes, suffused in tears, upon him--he was easily able to read their language. With instinctive delicacy, desirous of sparing her further distress from painful recollections, he terminated the interview here. In a rejoiced spirit he interpreted her look of overflowing gratitude as an acceptance of his uncle’s liberal offer, and he once more pressed her unreluctant hand, as, relieving her of any necessity for speaking, he informed her that he should convey to his kind-hearted relative her judicious decision upon the matter. If he were not in love now, it is more than doubtful if ever he could be.