ful to give pain, and yet anxious that Clifford should know, in order that he might disprove, the slight and the suspicion which the mystery around him drew upon his name, she faltered between the two feelings, and without satisfying the latter, succeeded in realizing the fear of the former.
"Enough!" said Clifford, in a tone of deep mortification, as his quick ear caught and interpreted, yet more humiliatingly than the truth, the meaning of her stammered and confused reply. "Enough! I see that it is true, and that the only human being in the world to whose good opinion I am not indifferent, has been a witness of the insulting manner in which others have dared to speak of me!"
"But," said Lucy, eagerly, "why give the envious or the idle any excuse? Why not suffer your parentage and family to be publicly known? Why are you here"—(and her voice sunk into a lower key)—"this very day, unasked, and therefore subject to the cavils of all who think the poor distinction of an invitation an honour? Forgive me,
