“Oh, Mr. Vivian, in mercy do not say so--pray do not! I do not think he is deranged--do you not remember that when he said to me he was not mad, how coherently he spoke? I entreat you, Mr. Vivian, not to say you think his mind is gone; if you do, I shall believe you.” Hal saw the tears spring into her eyes, and he blamed himself for having brought them there, especially when she said-- “It will so much add to the grief I have already suffered.” “I would not add to it for the world, Miss Wilton,” he said hastily, and added thoughtfully, “it may have been selfishness which has led me to form the supposition, but I would willingly, though not cheerfully, abandon it if I thought, by so doing, you would be spared one painful emotion.” “Not cheerfully,” said Flora with innocent surprise, “why with reluctance, Mr. Vivian?” “Not reluctance, Miss Wilton, that is not the word--sorrow is the truer term.” “I do not understand you; I am, I suppose, very dull; but, Mr. Vivian, is it possible that you could be sorry to find my father not insane?” she inquired, with some earnestness. “Listen,” he said: “if what your father has said be not the wanderings of a disturbed mind, the return of the gentleman who has recently visited him, from India, has opened up to him an immediate return to some former wealthy position, even though the instrument appears as unconscious of his power to effect it as we are.” “So I understand it,” returned Flora, finding Hal pause. “Then,” he exclaimed, strong feeling being manifest in the tone of his voice, “I should not, I trust you will credit me, be sorry that he had achieved his immediate release from this filthy prison, or that he and you--you, Miss Wilton, were restored to a position you so eminently deserve to occupy; but I should, I fear, grieve to think that all your good could not be accomplished without my discomfort.” “Your discomfort?” asked Flora, catching his arm, and looking into his eyes with an expression of interest for which he would have willingly pressed her to his heart if he dared. He was a little confused, for he saw plain enough that if he had no heart to pain her, she had no desire to occasion him discomfort. “Well, Miss Wilton,” he answered, “to speak honestly to you--I had reared up a little fabric, based upon what I thought to be your condition; I had expected from it much happiness, perhaps that of securing to you immunity from troubles and trials, so far as I could. By the return of this Indian officer, it is dashed to the ground, and shattered to atoms. I rejoice most sincerely that it has brought you and your father good, but do not think harshly of me if I selfishly regret that by it my prospects of felicity are swept away entirely In the time to come, when difference of position shall part us for ever, may I ask you, Flora--Miss Wilton--to believe that, had the opportunity been afforded me, I would, when tried, have proved to you a sincere and a true friend?”