“No, I do not deserve your love; do not make yourself unhappy for a fellow like me, dearest, sweetest Dora! it is too good of you; I can never, never forget _you_! but think of me only as of a brother, as of one who would bring you nothing but good, not sorrow; think of me with kindness always, but not with sorrowful regret; think of me as one who loves you devotedly, passionately; I shall treasure your image in my heart, and dote upon it in my fancy, and in the lonely nightwatch, dwell on the recollection of your smile; and perhaps in moments of danger, in storm, and peril, and difficulty, your dear, bright eyes will shine on my memory, and nerve me for daring deeds; but do not think of me. It is enough for me to know that had there been no obstacle you would have loved me; that had my birth and fortune entitled me to ask your hand, I might have won you; that your heart should have been mine, had Heaven so willed it. But do not grieve that we must part; nay, do not shed those tears; dearest Dora! I do not deserve so very great an honor.” As if such words would make her care less, or quiet the heart-broken sobs with which she listened to his protestations! “But you are not going yet?” she murmured. “Heaven knows how soon; but, Dora, after this, even if I do not, we must not meet again.” “Oh! Maurice,” ejaculated she, in overwhelming distress. “Not purposely, not alone; no, Dora, it has been madness, wickedness almost, to love you and make you unhappy; but we will not add to that unintentional error the real, downright crime of carrying on a secret understanding, a clandestine intercourse. If I may not ask you of your father now, at least he shall not, when I do, throw back on me the imputation that I have meanly, basely encouraged you in defying his wishes or thwarting his hopes. If that blessed time should ever come when I may seek you openly――if――oh! Dora,――if you still love me in some happier future, then let us, at least, have the power of saying and feeling we were rash, imprudent, thoughtless, but we were not deceitful.” The little hand he held tremblingly pressed his fingers with a convulsive clasp, and then she murmured again―― “Oh! Maurice, I will be true to you for life; I will never, no, never, be the bride of another; you have my heart, and shall have my faith for life.”