r your--your--" She
paused for a moment, confused and hesitating, but presently recovering
herself, rose, and added, in a calmer tone, "Surely you have no excuse
for this intrusion: you will suffer me to leave you."

"No," exclaimed Clarence, violently agitated, "no! Have you not wronged
me, stung me, wounded me to the core by your injustice? and will you not
hear now how differently I have deserved from you? On a bed of fever
and pain I thought only of you; I rose from it animated by the hope of
winning you! Though, during the danger of my wound and my consequent
illness, your parents alone, of all my intimate acquaintances, neglected
to honour with an inquiry the man whom you professed to consecrate with
your regard, yet scarcely could my hand trace a single sentence before I
wrote to you requesting an interview, in order to disclose my birth and
claim your plighted faith! That letter was returned to me unanswered,
unopened. My friend and benefactor, whose fortune I now inherit,
promised to call upon your father and advocate my cause. Death
anticipated his kindness. As soon as my sorrow for his loss permitted
me, I came to this very spot! For three days I hovered about your house,
seeking the meeting that you would fain deny me now. I could not any
longer bear the torturing suspense I endured: I wrote to you; your
father answered the letter. Here, here I have it still: read! note well
the cool, the damning insult of each line. I see that you knew not of
this: I rejoice at it! Can you wonder that, on receiving it, I subjected
myself no more to such affronts? I hastened abroad. On my return I met
you. Where? In crowds, in the glitter of midnight assemblies, in the
whirl of what the vain call pleasure! I observed your countenance, your
manner; was there in either a single token of endearing or regretful
remembrance? None! I strove to harden my heart; I entered into politics,
business, intrigue; I hoped, I longed, I burned to forget you, but in
vain!"

"At last I heard that Rumour, though it had long preceded, had not
belied, the truth, and that you were to be married,--married to Lord
Ulswater! I will not say what I suffered, or how idly I summoned pride
to resist affection! But I would not have come now to molest you, Flora,
to trouble your nuptial rejoicings with one thought of me, if, forgive
me, I had not suddenly dreamed that I had cause to hope you had
mistaken, not rejected my heart; that--you turn away, Flora, y