'It has been a vain struggle. I know he's a bad man, a worthless man--selfish, cruel, maybe. Love is not blind with me, but quite insane. He does not know, nor you, nor anyone; and now, Rachel, I tell you what was unknown to all but myself and Heaven--looking neither for counsel, nor for pity, nor for sympathy, but because I must, and you have sworn to keep my secret. I love your brother. Rachel, you must try to like me.' She threw her arms round her cousin's neck, and Rachel felt in her embrace the vibration of an agony. She was herself so astonished that for a good while she could hardly collect her thoughts or believe her senses. Was it credible? Stanley! whom she had received with a coldness, if not aversion, so marked, that, if he had a spark of Rachel's spirit, he would never have approached her more! Then came the thought--perhaps they understood one another, and that was the meaning of Stanley's unexpected visit? 'Well, Dorcas, dear, I _am_ utterly amazed. But does Stanley--he can hardly hope?' Dorcas removed her arms from her cousin's neck; her face was pale, and her cheeks wet with tears, which she did not wipe away. 'Sit down by me, Rachel. No, _he_ does _not_ like _me_--that is--I don't know; but, I am sure, he can't suspect that I like him. It was my determination it should not be. I resolved, Rachel, quite to extinguish the madness; but I could not. It was not his doing, nor mine, but something else. There are some families, I think, too wicked for Heaven to protect, and they are given over to the arts of those who hated them in life and pursue them after death; and this is the meaning of the curse that has always followed us. No good will ever happen us, and I must go like the rest.' There was a short silence, and Rachel gazed on the carpet in troubled reflection, and then, with an anxious look, she took her cousin's hand, and said-- 'Dorcas, you must think of this no more. I am speaking against my brother's interest. But you must not sacrifice yourself, your fortune, and your _happiness_, to a shadow; whatever his means are, they hardly suffice for his personal expenses--indeed, they don't suffice, for I have had to help him. But that is all trifling compared with other considerations. I am his sister, and, though he has shown little love for me, I am not without affection--and strong affection--for him; but I must and will speak frankly. You could not, I don't think anyone could be happy with Stanley for her husband. You don't know him: he's profligate; he's ill-tempered; he's cold; he's selfish; he's secret. He was a spoiled boy, totally without moral education; he might, perhaps, have been very different, but he _is what_ he is, and I don't think he'll ever change.' 'He may be what he will. It is vain reasoning with that which is not reason; the battle is over; possibly he may never know, and that might be best for both--but be it how it may, I will never marry anyone else.'