In the midst of my anguish, I had not been destitute of consolation.

His late deportment had given spring to my hopes.

Was not the hour at hand, which should render me the happiest of human creatures?
He suspected that I looked with favorable eyes upon Carwin.

Hence arose disquietudes, which he struggled in vain to conceal.
He loved me, but was hopeless that his love would be compensated.

Is it not time, said I, to rectify this error?
But by what means is this to be effected?
It can only be done by a change of deportment in me; but how must I demean myself for this purpose?
I must not speak.