It was a moment of wild intoxication; the delight of knowing each other’s hearts, was dearly purchased, and yet it was a delight. Their whole acquaintance had been a series of imprudencies, and this conversation was but the crowning imprudence of all. For as to hope, they really, hardly dared entertain an idea of it; Dora felt, and Maurice feared, that there was small chance of her father’s consent to an engagement, and without Mr. Barham’s consent, Maurice would not even ask her to make him the smallest promise of constancy or faith. He indeed, would have gone straight to Mr. Barham, owned his affection, and asked to be allowed to win her hand by gallant deeds, or constant devotion; but Dora dared do no such thing; she shrank from cold looks, and harsh, stern words, and contempt and censure. She could not encounter Isabel’s surprise, or her father’s frown; she would have gladly plighted her hand to Maurice, and would have trusted, with the coward’s trusts, to time or chance, to circumstances, to accident, to any thing in fact, rather than to bold, straightforward measures. It was his sense of honor, and his rectitude of feeling alone, which saved her from the misery of a clandestine engagement; she would have ventured that for him; she dared not be open, but she thought she could be true. His, too, was all the regret, the remorse, indeed, for what he had done. When the first violent emotion had passed away, and he saw how he had won her heart, and yet must not avow their mutual affection, he became aware how great an injury he had done her; what a cloud he should have thrown upon her young life, what a constant, fretting, wearing anxiety he had brought upon her. Then, in his true and honorable love, he prayed her to forget him; not to let the thought, the memory of him, darken her days, or interfere with her future prospects. His love saw no shadow, no fault in her; it was too warm to permit the thought that she was a coward at heart, and shrank from the only right step; he called her weakness, gentleness, docility, feminine tenderness; and while he would have braved all and any thing for her, he almost trembled at the idea of entailing on her a moment’s care or mental suffering.