cannot believe this. 'Never loved you'? What was her object, then, in
deceiving not only you, but myself? I suspect her declaration was but
some heroical refinement of generosity. After her brother's dejection
and probable ruin, she might feel that she was no match for you. Then,
too, the squire's displeasure! I see it all; just like her,--noble,
unhappy woman!"

Frank shook his head. "There are moments," said he, with a wisdom that
comes out of those instincts which awake from the depths of youth's first
great sorrow,--"moments when a woman cannot feign, and there are tones in
the voice of a woman which men cannot misinterpret. She does not love
me,--she never did love me; I can see that her heart has been elsewhere.
No matter,--all is over. I don't deny that I am suffering an intense
grief; it gnaws like a kind of sullen hunger; and I feel so broken, too,
as if I had grown old, and there was nothing left worth living for. I
don't deny all that."

"My poor, dear friend, if you would but believe--"

"I don't want to believe anything, except that I have been a great fool.
I don't think I can ever commit such follies again. But I'm a man. I
shall get the better of this; I should despise myself if I could not.
And now let us talk of my dear father. Has he left town?"

"Left last night by the mail. You can write and tell him you have given
up the marchesa, and all will be well again between you."

"Give her up! Fie, Randal! Do you think I should tell such a lie? She
gave me up; I can claim no merit out of that."