Was not the hour at hand which should
render me the happiest of human creatures? He suspected that I
looked with favorable eyes upon Carwin. Hence arose disquietudes
which he struggled in vain to conceal. He loved me, but was
hopeless that his love would be compensated. Is it not time, said
I, to rectify this error? But by what means is this to be
effected? It can only be done by a change of deportment in me; but
how must I demean myself for this purpose?
I must not speak. Neither eyes nor lips must impart the
information. He must not be assured that my heart is his, previous
to the tender of his own; but he must be convinced that it has not
been given to another; he must be supplied with space whereon to
build a doubt as to the true state of my affections; he must be
prompted to avow himself. The line of delicate propriety,--how
hard it is not to fall short, and not to overleap it!
This afternoon we shall meet. . . . We shall not separate till
late. It will be his province to accompany me home. The airy
expanse is without a speck. This breeze is usually steadfast, and
its promise of a bland and cloudless evening may be trusted.
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