She hesitated. Dora’s wild words crossed her mind. Would her answer have any influence on her friend’s fate? could it be that he regretted the grief he had occasioned, and would repair it even now? “Speak, I implore you,” added he, as she waited to consider. “Would my reply make any difference in the result? would the knowledge of my opinion influence your conduct?” she asked, looking up at him. “Try,” said he; but it was with an expression of eye she did not like. “No, I will not. I see no good could come of the answer!” “Thank you, that is enough!” said he, with a bitter smile; “I know that could Hilary Duncan have expressed any pleasure or even unconcern, she would have done so at once; and I do not suppose Hilary Hepburn is less sincere.” She colored again, and after a momentary hesitation, she said: “I believe you may be right in your inference, but the cause of the pain must be unknown to you.” “Is it? do not fear that I should attribute it to piqued feminine vanity, or disappointment of selfish triumph, which would gladly retain the love it does not return. I know you better than that. I know that thoughts of self did not mingle with your pain; the disappointment Dora’s marriage cost you, has but little to do with mine.” “Much of the disappointment I have felt, arises from regret, Mr. Huyton; regret to see a mind formed for better things and nobler, holier tempers, a mind which can appreciate the beautiful, the true, the good, perverted by an unwise and ungoverned passion, till it could stoop to malicious retaliation and mean revenge, for imaginary injuries; to deception and hypocrisy to carry out its objects. Whatever other sorrow I may have felt, my keenest has been to lose the power of esteeming one whom I had known so long.” Tears started into her eyes as she spoke, and she looked at him with an expression of pity he found it hard to withstand. She thought she saw a wavering, uncertain glance, and she hoped that, perhaps, even now he might relent. She ventured to speak again. “Forgive me for uttering what may seem harsh; my words were, perhaps, too strong; but let me say one thing more. In three days you are, they say, to give your hand to Dora Barham, and with your hand to promise your love! Is it affection for her that actuates you? and shall you be sincere in the vows you plight her? If not, what hope of happiness is there for you or for her?”