“It is not for loving Maurice,” replied Hilary, hesitating, and pressing Dora’s fingers closer. Their eyes met, and then bursting into a passion of tears, Dora once more hid her face; but this time it was with her hands, away from her friend, and she faltered out, between her passionate sobs, “I know――I know――but oh, Hilary! I dare not――_dare_ not! You do not know what I should have to bear. I knew, I thought you would say this――but I can not――can not.” Hilary again kissed and soothed her, and spoke soft words of sisterly tenderness, and did not try to argue or persuade, until Dora’s own vehemence exhausted itself, and she became calm. Then Hilary spoke of openness and truth, firmness and endurance, and tried to show her that there was no hope but in candor; and to convince her that her cowardice was wearing out her own feelings, and throwing away the happiness of one she said she loved so well. And her father, too, how could she reconcile her conduct with her duty to him? and how could he bear it, when he learned that his young daughter had given away her affections to one whom she dared not own――had done what she was ashamed to acknowledge――had listened willingly to words she blushed that she should hear? could this be right? Dora threw herself upon the sofa, burying her face in the cushions, and lay there in powerless grief, her very attitude and air telling of the prostration of her mind, of her entire helplessness and irresolution. “Oh, if I could――if I dared――if I were you――had your strength, Hilary――but you do not know what coldness and unkindness are――you never felt my father’s frown. Any thing but that I could bear. I could die for Maurice――I shall die for him, I know. I do not wish to live without him; but I dare not tell myself――I dare not own it all.” “Then you are quite resolved, Dora, to conquer your affection――to give him up entirely? You can never see him again; and, I may tell him you have determined on this course――that you sincerely renounce his love, and bid him forget you if he can.” “No, no! cruel Hilary, don’t talk so! in all my grief, to know he loves me, is my only comfort: give it up indeed! but he will not――he can not――he never can forget me.” “Nay, Dora, for both your sakes he must, and he will, too. Maurice will do his duty at any hazard, and the love he may not own, he will not nourish. He would endure any thing for you, and your good; and even that, the greatest suffering of all, the crushing of all hope, the renunciation of all claim on you, the extinction of his affection, he will bravely battle for, because he knows that all this is better for you; more truly, lastingly good for you, than the growth of a secret, a clandestine, and, therefore, a disgraceful attachment. He will fight, and he will conquer, too; though the victory may be won only by the sacrifice of youth’s brightest, dearest hopes.” Dora’s sobs were her only answer.