It was an unfortunate whisper; Dora was not sleeping, only lying in a half-unconscious, dreamy state of exhaustion; but the mention of her hated name, the allusion to that too-dearly valued letter, roused every emotion again, and a terrible scene ensued. Her fearful screams brought her father and the medical attendants, but it was too late, the sudden shock had quite overset her reason; and from that time she had continued for several days, alternately raving wildly of the letter and of Maurice, or bewailing distractedly over her broken faith. That she was in the worst access of a terrible brain fever was their only hope; it was possible that could that be subdued all would yet be well. The unfortunate letter had been placed in Mr. Barham’s hands, and he began to examine it, under the idea that it had been addressed to Dora herself. He had previously entertained occasional misgivings as to his daughter’s feelings; he had once or twice fancied she entertained a preference for the young lieutenant; but pride would not listen to the notion, and her ready acceptance of Mr. Huyton’s addresses had, for a time, relieved him from alarm. On Dora’s return home, however, still graver doubts had risen; her manners to Mr. Huyton were of a kind which spoke of indifference, if not dislike; and there was so entire an absence of confidence between the two, such coldness in the gentleman, such waywardness in the lady, so little interest or concern for each other, that he had often feared a violent and complete rupture would be the result. Mr. Barham had thought himself a happy man when, the marriage writings having been signed, the young couple had turned away from church united for life. Such is happiness based on a worldly fabric; such are human calculations, human foresight. Now he would have given any thing to cancel the ceremony, could he by that means have recalled his daughter’s reason, and insured her life. Now he fancied that had he known of her prior attachment, he would gladly have gratified it; and struggled to believe that he would have really bestowed her hand and fortune on Mr. Duncan, had he been aware how deeply her happiness was concerned. Vain self-delusion; indulged in only to palliate, to his own reproachful conscience, the fact that he had never consulted her feelings, or really considered her happiness. It was easy to say what he would have done under circumstances which had not happened, and not very difficult to persuade himself that had Maurice made formal proposals for his daughter’s hand, he would have been listened to with ready acquiescence, and not rejected with polite contempt.