"But why should you be unhappy? You do not deserve to be so."

"That is precisely what made me ask you just now if you believed in
fate."

"Oh, I know not. I cannot answer such a question; but why should you be
unhappy, with your brave, generous, and noble heart? Surely, surely, you
do not deserve it."

"I said before that I have no hope, Miss Folliard. I shall carry with
me my love of you through life; it is my first, and I feel it will be my
last--it will be the melancholy light that will burn in the sepulchre
of my heart to show your image there. And now, Miss Folliard, I will bid
you farewell. Your father has proffered me hospitality, but I have not
strength nor resolution to accept it. You now know my secret--a hopeless
passion."

"Reilly," she replied, weeping bitterly, "our acquaintance has been
short--we have not seen much of each other, yet I will not deny that
I believe you to be all that any female heart could--pardon me, I am
without experience--I know not much of the world. You have travelled,
papa told me last night; I do not wish that you should be unhappy, and,
least of all, that I, who owe you so much, should be the occasion of it.
No, you talk of a hopeless passion. I know not what I ought to say--but
to the preserver of my father's life, and, probably my own honor, I
will say, be not--but why should love be separated from truth?" she
said--"No, Reilly, be not hopeless."

"Oh," replied Reilly, who had gone over near her, "but my soul will not