you have a jealous feeling, you were
never more mistaken. Lilian, I am convinced, does more than dislike him;
he has inspired her with repugnance, with terror. And much as I own I
like him, in his wild, joyous, careless, harmless way, do not think I
flatter you if I say that Mr. Margrave is not the man to make any girl
untrue to you,--untrue to a lover with infinitely less advantages than
you may pretend to. He would be a universal favourite, I grant; but
there is something in him, or a something wanting in him, which makes
liking and admiration stop short of love. I know not why; perhaps,
because, with all his good humour, he is so absorbed in himself, so
intensely egotistical, so light; were he less clever, I should say so
frivolous. He could not make love, he could not say in the serious tone
of a man in earnest, 'I love you.' He owned as much to me, and owned,
too, that he knew not even what love was. As to myself, Mr. Margrave
appears rich; no whisper against his character or his honour ever
reached me. Yet were you out of the question, and were there no stain on
his birth, nay, were he as high in rank and wealth as he is favoured by
Nature in personal advantages, I confess I could never consent to trust
him with my daughter's fate. A voice at my heart would cry, 'No!' It
may be an unreasonable prejudice, but I could not bear to see him touch
Lilian's hand!"

"Did she never, then--never suffer him even to take her hand?"

"Never. Do not think so meanly of her as to suppose that she could be
caught by a fair face, a graceful manner. Reflect: just before she had
refused, for your sake, Ashleigh Sumner, whom Lady Haughton said 'no
girl in her senses could refuse;' and this change in Lilian really began
before we returned to L----,--before she had even seen Mr. Margrave.
I am convinced it is something in the reach of your skill as
physician,--it is on the nerves, the system. I will give you a proof
of what I say, only do not betray me to her. It was during your
imprisonment, the night before your release, that I was awakened by her
coming to my bedside. She was sobbing as if her heart would break. 'O
mother, mother!' she cried, 'pity me, help me! I am so wretched.' 'What
is the matter, darling?' 'I have been so cruel to Allen, and I know I
shall be so again. I cannot help it. Do not question me; only if we are
separated, if he cast me off, or I reject him, tell him some day perhaps
when I am in my grave--not to believ