Virginia now spoke in so consistent a manner that Clarence could not doubt that she was in the clear possession of her understanding. She repeated to him all that she had said to Mrs. Ormond; and he began to hope that, without any intention to deceive, Mrs. Ormond’s ignorance of the human heart led her into a belief that Virginia was in love with him; whilst, in fact, her imagination, exalted by solitude and romance, embodied and became enamoured of a phantom.
“I always told Mrs. Ormond that she was mistaken,” said Clarence. “I never believed that you loved me, Virginia, till—(he paused and carefully examined her countenance)—till you yourself gave me reason to think so. Was it only a principle of gratitude, then, that dictated your answer to my letter?”
She looked irresolute: and at last, in a low voice, said, “If I could see, if I could speak to Mrs. Ormond———”
“She cannot tell what are the secret feelings of your heart, Virginia. Consult no Mrs. Ormond. Consult no human creature but yourself.”
“But Mrs. Ormond told me that you loved me, and that you had educated me to be your wife.”
Mr. Hervey made an involuntary exclamation against Mrs. Ormond’s folly.
“How, then, can you be happy,” continued Virginia, “if I am so ungrateful as to say I do not love you? That I do not love you!—Oh! that I cannot say; for I do love you better than any one living except my father, and with the same sort of affection that I feel for him. You ask me to tell you the secret feelings of my heart: the only secret feeling of which I am conscious is—a wish not to marry, unless I could see in reality such a person as——But that I knew was only a picture, a dream; and I thought that I ought at least to sacrifice my foolish imaginations to you, who have done so much for me. I knew that it would be the height of ingratitude to refuse you; and besides, my father told me that you would not accept of my fortune without my hand, so I consented to marry you: forgive me, if these were wrong motives—I thought them right. Only tell me what I can do to make you happy, as I am sure I wish to do; to that wish I would sacrifice every other feeling.”
“Sacrifice nothing, dear Virginia. We may both be happy without making any sacrifice of our feelings,” cried Clarence. And, transported at regaining his own freedom, Virginia’s simplicity never appeared to him so charming as at this moment. “Dearest Virginia, forgive me for suspecting you for one instant of any thing unhandsome. Mrs. Ormond, with the very best intentions possible, has led us both to the brink of misery. But I find you such as I always thought you, ingenuous, affectionate, innocent.”
“And you are not angry with me?” interrupted Virginia, with joyful eagerness; “and you will not think me ungrateful? And you will not be unhappy? And Mrs. Ormond was mistaken? And you do not wish that I should love you, that I should be your wife, I mean? Oh, don’t deceive me, for I cannot help believing whatever you say.”
Clarence Hervey, to give her a convincing proof that Mrs. Ormond had misled her as to his sentiments, immediately avowed his passion for Belinda.