“I am not quite sure whether I have sorrow or joy to impart,” said Lady Gertrude, still feelingly; for she guessed why Caroline believed she dare not confide in her, and she hailed it as proof that she was right in her surmise, that her brother’s honourable love would not be again rejected.

“Eugene seems bent on again quitting England, and I fear if he do, he will not return home again.  On one little circumstance depends his final determination; my persuasions to the contrary have entirely failed.”

The cheek of her companion blanched even paler than before, two or three large tears gathered in her eyes, then slowly fell, one by one, upon her tightly-clasped hands.

“And if you have failed, who will succeed?” she asked, with a strong effort.

“The chosen one, whose power over the heart of St. Eval is even greater than mine,” said Lady Gertrude, steadily.  “Ah, Caroline, when a man has learned to love, the affection of a sister is of little weight.”

“He does love, then,” thought Caroline, and her heart swelled even to bursting, and he goes to seek her.  “And will not the being Lord St. Eval has honoured with his love second your efforts? if she be in England, can she wish him to quit it?” she said aloud, in answer to her friend.

“If she love him, she will not,” said Lady Gertrude; “but St. Eval fears to ask the question that decides his fate.  Strange and wayward as he is, he would rather create certain misery for himself, than undergo the torture of being again refused.”

For a few minutes Caroline answered not; then, with a sudden effort, rallying her energies, she exclaimed, as if in jest—­

“Why, then, does he not make you his messenger; the affection you bear for him would endow you with an eloquence, I doubt much whether his own would surpass.”

She would have spoken more in the same strain, but the effort failed; and turning away from Lady Gertrude’s penetrating glance, which she felt was fixed upon her, though she could not meet it, she burst into tears.

More than ever convinced of the truth of her suspicions, Lady Gertrude’s noble mind found it impossible to continue this mode of discovery any longer.  She saw that Caroline imagined not she was the being alluded to; that not even the phrase “again refused” had startled her into consciousness, and she felt it was unkind to distress her more.

“I knew it was false,” she exclaimed, as the Viscount’s tale flashed across her mind; then, checking herself, she took Caroline’s cold and half-reluctant hand, and added, in a voice of extreme feeling, “Caroline, dearest Caroline, forgive my having penetrated your secret; fear me not, dear girl, I honour too much the feeling which dictates your conduct.  You have learned to love St. Eval; you have repented the wilful and capricious treatment he once received from you.  Deny it not, nay, do not shrink from me, and think, because I appear so calm, I cannot feel for those who are dear to me, and even sympathise in their love.  I do not, I will not condemn the past; I did once, I own, but since I have known you, I have forgiven the mistaken wilfulness of a misguided girl.  You love him—­confess that I am right, dearest.”