love and rivalship; you remember one night when we
met by the castle cave, and when your kindness touched and softened
me despite of myself. The day after that night I sought you, with the
intention of communicating to you all; and while I was yet struggling
with my embarrassment and the suffocating tide of my emotions, you
premeditated me by giving me _your_ confidence. Engrossed by your own
feelings, you were not observant of mine; and as you dwelt and dilated
upon your love for Isora, all emotions, save those of agony and of fury,
vanished from my breast. I did not answer you then at any length, for
I was too agitated to trust to prolix speech; but by the next day I
had recovered myself, and I resolved, as far as I was able, to play the
hypocrite, "he cannot love her as I do!" I said; "perhaps I may, without
disclosure of my rivalship and without sin in the attempt, detach him
from her by reason." Fraught with this idea, I collected myself, sought
you, remonstrated with you, represented the worldly folly of your
love, and uttered all that prudence preaches--in vain, when it preaches
against passion!

Let me be brief. I saw that I made no impression on you; I stifled my
wrath; I continued to visit and watch Isora. I timed my opportunities
well: my constant knowledge of your motions allowed me to do that;
besides, I represented to the Spaniard the necessity, through political
motives, of concealing myself from you; hence, we never encountered each
other. One evening, Alvarez had gone out to meet one of his countrymen
and confederates. I found Isora alone, in the most sequestered part
of the garden; her loveliness, and her exceeding gentleness of manner,
melted me. For the first time audibly my heart spoke out, and I told
her of my idolatry. Idolatry! ay, _that_ is the only word, since it
signifies both worship and guilt! She heard me timidly, gently, coldly.
She spoke; and I found confirmed from her own lips what my reason had
before told me,--that there was no hope for me. The iron that entered
also roused my heart. "Enough!" I cried fiercely, "you love this Morton
Devereux, and for him I am scorned." Isora blushed and trembled, and
all my senses fled from me. I scarcely know in what words my rage and my
despair clothed themselves: but I know that I divulged myself to her; I
know that I told her I was the brother, the rival, the enemy of the man
she loved,--I know that I uttered the fiercest and the wildest menaces
an