I was correct when I said that it overpowered me, for it did completely, and I was so oppressed by my feelings, that I reeled to a chair, and covered up my face with my hands. What would I have given to have dared to state what I felt! "You are ill, Mr Musgrave," said Miss Trevannion, coming to me. "Can I offer you anything?" I made no reply; I could not speak. "Mr Musgrave," said Miss Trevannion, taking my hand, "you frighten me. What is the matter? Shall I call Humphrey?" I felt her hand tremble in mine, and, uncertain what to think, I came to the resolution to make the avowal. "Miss Trevannion," said I, after a pause, and rising from my chair, "I feel that this internal conflict is too great for me, and if it last it must kill me. I give you my honour that I have for months tried everything in my power to curb my desires and to persuade myself of my folly and rash ambition, but I cannot do so any longer. It were better that I knew my fate at once, even if my sentence should be my death. You will ridicule my folly, be surprised at my presumption, and, in all probability, spurn me for the avowal, but make it I must. Miss Trevannion, I have dared--to love you; I have but one excuse to offer, which is, that I have been more than a year in your company, and it is impossible for any one not to love one so pure, so beautiful, and so good. I would have postponed this avowal till I was able to resume my position in society, by the means which industry might have afforded me; but my departure upon this business, and the kind of presentiment which I have, that I may not see you again, has forced it from me. In a few days I leave you--be gentle with me for my involuntary offence--pity me while you condemn, and I will return no more." Miss Trevannion did not reply; she breathed quick, and stood motionless. I gathered courage; I looked in her face, there was no displeasure--I approached her, she was half fainting, and put her hand upon my shoulder to steady herself. I put my arm round her waist, and led her to the sofa, and knelt at her feet, watching every change in her beautiful countenance. I took her hand and pressed it to my lips; by degrees I became more bold, and got by her side, and pressed her to my heart. She burst into tears, and wept with her head on my bosom. "Do not be angry with me," said I, after a time. "Do I appear as if I was angry with you?" replied she, raising her head. "Oh, no; but I cannot believe my happiness to be real. It must be a dream." "What is life but a dream?" replied she mournfully. "Oh, the coast of Africa! How I dread it!" And so I confess did I from that moment; I had a presentiment, as I had told her, that something would go wrong, and I could not get over the feeling.