“Oh, Fanny! my poor Fanny!” said Kilcullen; “if such is the case, you are really to be pitied. If this be true, your condition is nearly as unhappy as my own.” “I am unhappy, very unhappy in your love,” said Fanny, drawing herself up proudly; “but not unhappy in my own. My misery is that I should be the cause of trouble and unhappiness to others. I have nothing to regret in my own choice.” “You are harsh, Fanny. It may be well that you should be decided, but it cannot become you also to be unfeeling. I have offered to you all that a man can offer; my name, my fortune, my life, my heart; though you may refuse me, you have no right to be offended with me.” “Oh, Adolphus!” said she, now in her turn offering him her hand: “pray forgive me: pray do not be angry. Heaven knows I feel no offence: and how strongly, how sincerely, I feel the compliment you have offered me. But I want you to see how vain it would be in me to leave you—leave you in any doubt. I only spoke as I did to show you I could not think twice, when my heart was given to one whom I so entirely love, respect—and—and approve.” Lord Kilcullen’s face became thoughtful, and his brow grew black: he stood for some time irresolute what to say or do. “Let us walk on, Fanny, for this is cold and damp,” he said, at last. “Let us go back to the house, then.” “As you like, Fanny. Oh, how painful all this is! how doubly painful to know that my own love is hopeless, and that yours is no less so. Did you not refuse Lord Ballindine?” “If I did, is it not sufficient that I tell you I love him? If he were gone past all redemption, you would not have me encourage you while I love another?” “I never dreamed of this! What, Fanny, what are your hopes? what is it you wish or intend? Supposing me, as I wish I were, fathoms deep below the earth, what would you do? You cannot marry Lord Ballindine.” “Then I will marry no one,” said Fanny, striving hard to suppress her tears, and barely succeeding. “Good heavens!” exclaimed Kilcullen; “what an infatuation is this!”—and then again he walked on silent a little way. “Have you told any one of this, Fanny?—do they know of it at Grey Abbey? Come, Fanny, speak to me: forget, if you will, that I would be your lover: remember me only as your cousin and your friend, and speak to me openly. Do they know that you have repented of the refusal you gave Lord Ballindine?” “They all know that I love him: your father, your mother, and Selina.” “You don’t say my father?”