“Oh! you have made me so happy! I feel so persuaded that you have not deceived me! the tones of your voice, your manner, your expression, convince me that you have been sincere, and that I am happy, at least for the present.” “For ever, I trust, Miss Fane.” “Let me now prevent future misery. Let me speak about that which has long dwelt on my mind like a nightmare, about that which I did fear it was almost too late to speak. Not of your pursuit, not even of that fatal pursuit, do I now think, but of your companion in this amusement, in all amusements! it is he, he whom I dread, whom I look upon with horror, even to him, I cannot say, with hatred!” “The Baron?” said Vivian, calmly. “I cannot name him. Dread him, fear him, avoid him! it is he that I mean, he of whom I thought that you were the victim. You must have been surprised, you must have wondered at our conduct towards him. Oh! when Lady Madeleine turned from him with coolness, when she answered him in tones which to you might have appeared harsh, she behaved to him, in comparison to what is his due, and what we sometimes feel to be our duty, with affection, actually with affection and regard. No human being can know what horror is, until he looks upon a fellow-creature with the eyes that I look upon that man.” She leant upon Vivian’s arm with her whole weight, and even then he thought she must have sunk; neither spoke. How solemn is the silence of sorrow! “I am overcome,” continued Miss Fane; “the remembrance of what he has done overwhelms me. I cannot speak it; the recollection is death; yet you must know it. That you might know it, I have before attempted. I wished to have spared myself the torture which I now endure. You must know it. I will write; ay! that will do. I will write: I cannot speak now; it is impossible; but beware of him; you are so young.” “I have no words now to thank you, dear Miss Fane, for this. Had I been the victim of Von Konigstein, I should have been repaid for all my misery by feeling that you regretted its infliction; but I trust that I am in no danger: though young, I fear that I am one who must not count his time by calendars. ‘An aged interpreter, though young in days.’ Would that I could be deceived! Fear not for your cousin. Trust to one whom you have made think better of this world, and of his fellow-creatures.” The sound of approaching footsteps, and the light laugh of pleasure, told of some who were wandering like themselves. “We had better return,” said Miss Fane; “I fear that Lady Madeleine will observe that I look unwell. Some one approaches! No, they pass only the top of the walk.” It was Mr. St. George and Aurelia Fitzloom. Quick flew the brilliant hours; and soon the dance was over, and the music mute. It was late when Vivian retired. As he opened his door he was surprised to find lights in his chamber. The figure of a man appeared seated at the table. It moved; it was Essper George. CHAPTER XIII