eas you have awakened in my mind. They
will develop there, and then you shall know my answer. Until that time
comes, I entreat you to have pity on my weakness, respect my silence and
wait."

Philip instantly rose and said:

"The best proof of love that I can give you is obedience. I will wait,
Dolores, I will wait, but I shall hope."

Having said this he retired, leaving her oppressed by a vague sorrow
that sleep only partially dispelled.

During the days that followed this conversation, Philip, faithful to his
promise, made no allusion to the scene we have just described. For four
years he had buried his secret so deeply in his own heart that even
Coursegol had not suspected it, so he did not find it difficult to
continue this role under the eyes of his father; and, though the burden
he imposed upon himself had become much heavier by reason of the
presence of Dolores, his hopes supplied him with strength to endure it.

For his hopes were great! Youthful hearts have no fear. He was not
ignorant of his father's plans; but he told himself that his father
loved him too much to cause him sorrow, and that he would probably be
glad to sacrifice his ambitious dreams if he could ensure the happiness
of both his children. Philip was sure of this. If he invoked the memory
of his mother and the love she bore Dolores, the Marquis could not
refuse his consent. He confidently believed that before six mouths had
elapsed he should be married and enjoying a felicity so perfect as to
leave nothing more to be desired. Cheered by this hope, he impatiently
awaited the decision of Dolores, happy, however, in living near her, in
seeing her every day, in listening to her voice and in accompanying her
on her walks. He watched himself so carefully that no word revealed the
real condition of his mind, and not even the closest observer of his
language and actions could have divined the existence of the sentiments
upon which he was, at that very moment, basing his future happiness.

Dolores was grateful to him for his delicacy and for the faithfulness
with which he kept his promise. She appreciated Philip's sacrifice the
more because she was obliged to impose an equally powerful restraint
upon herself in order to preserve her own secret. She loved him. All
the aspirations of an ardent and lofty soul, all the dreams of a pure
felicity based upon a noble affection were hers; and Philip's avowal,
closely following the revelations of the dying Ma