Misery! I
know you well enough now to hope, in spite of myself, that one day I
might, from your very hate or proud caprice, obtain what I shall never
owe to your love. You bid me convince you of my passion,--do you not see
how unhappy I am? I will do all I can to please you. You desire to, be
concealed from all eyes, and from all eyes I conceal you, perchance at
the risk of compromising myself most seriously; for, indeed, I know not
who you are. I respect your secret,--I never speak to you of it. I have
interrogated you as to your past life, and you have given me no answer."

"Well, then, I was very wrong. I'll give you a mark of blind confidence,
oh, master, dear! And so, listen."

"Another bitter jest, no doubt."

"No, a serious tale. You ought, at least, to know the life of her to
whom you afford such generous hospitality." Then Cecily continued, in a
tone of hypocritical and lachrymose earnestness, "Daughter of a brave
soldier, brother of my Aunt Pipelet, I received an education, beyond my
condition. I was seduced, and then abandoned, by a rich young gentleman;
then, to escape the anger of my father, whose notions of honour were
most strict, I fled my native country." Then bursting into a loud fit of
laughter, Cecily added, "Now I hope that's what you call a very pretty
and particularly probable tale, for it has been very often told. Amuse
your curiosity with that until you get hold of some other story more
interesting."

"I was certain it was some cruel jest," said the notary, with
concentrated rage; "nothing touches you,--nothing. What must I do? Tell
me. I serve you like the lowest footboy, for you I neglect my dearest
interests,--I no longer know what I do. I am a subject of astonishment
and derision to my own clerks; my clients hesitate any longer to entrust
me with their affairs; I have severed my connection with some religious
persons whom I knew intimately. I dare not think of what the world will
say of my change of demeanour and habits. But you do not know,--no, you
do not know the fatal consequences my mad passion for you may entail on
me. Yet I give you ample proof of my devotion. Will you have more?
Speak! Is it gold you would have? They think me richer than I am, but
I--"

"What could I do with your gold?" asked Cecily, interrupting the notary,
and shrugging her shoulders; "living in this chamber, what is the use of
gold? Your invention is at fault."

"It is no fault of mine if you are a prisone