“True, Charles, true, and I am more than ever now bound to look upon you with a loving heart; for have you not clung to me generously under circumstances which, if any at all could have justified you in rending asunder every tie which bound us together, surely would have done so most fully.” “It is misfortune and distress that tries love,” said Charles. “It is thus that the touchstone is applied to see if it be current gold indeed, or some base metal, which by a superficial glitter imitates it.” “And your love is indeed true gold.” “I am unworthy of one glance from those dear eyes if it were not.” “Oh, if we could but go from here, I think then we might be happy. A strong impression is upon my mind, and has been so for some time, that these persecutions to which I have been subjected are peculiar to this house.” “Think you so?” “I do, indeed!” “It may be so, Flora. You are aware that your brother has made up his mind that he will leave the Hall.” “Yes, yes.” “And that only in deference to an expressed wish of mine he put off the carrying such a resolve into effect for a few days.” “He said so much.” “Do not, however, imagine, dearest Flora, that those few days will be idly spent.” “Nay, Charles, I could not imagine so.” “Believe me, I have some hopes that in that short space of time I shall be able to accomplish yet something which shall have a material effect upon the present posture of affairs.” “Do not run into danger, Charles.” “I will not. Believe me, Flora, I have too much appreciation of the value of an existence which is blessed by your love, to encounter any needless risks.” “You say needless. Why do you not confide in me, and tell me if the object you have in view to accomplish in the few days delay is a dangerous one at all.” “Will you forgive me, Flora, if for once I keep a secret from you?” “Then, Charles, along with the forgiveness I must conjure up a host of apprehensions.” “Nay, why so?” “You would tell me if there were no circumstances that you feared would fill me with alarm.” “Now, Flora, your fears and not your judgment condemn me. Surely you cannot think me so utterly heedless as to court danger for danger’s sake.” “No, not so——” “You pause.” “And yet you have a sense of what you call honour, which, I fear, would lead you into much risk.” “I have a sense of honour; but not that foolish one which hangs far more upon the opinions of others than my own. If I thought a course of honour lay before me, and all the world, in a mistaken judgment, were to condemn it as wrong, I would follow it.” “You are right, Charles; you are right. Let me pray of you to be careful, and, at all events, to interpose no more delay to our leaving this house than you shall feel convinced is absolutely necessary for some object of real and permanent importance.”