Oh, you have a boundless generosity, unhappily enwound with a pride as great.

There is your fault, that is the cause of your misery.

Too generous! too proud! You have trusted, and you will not cease to trust; you have vowed yourself to love, never to remonstrate, never to seem to doubt; it is too much your religion, rare verily.

But bethink you of that inexperienced and most silly good creature who is on the rapids to her destruction.

Is she not--you will cry it aloud to-morrow--your victim?
You hear it within you now.' 'Friend, my dear, true friend,' Chloe said in her deeper voice of melody, 'set your mind at ease about to-morrow and her.