I doubt if any girl does.

I don't want to marry any man." "Is it because another man fills your heart ?" I asked, speaking gently.
"Tell me, my beautiful sister, tell me.

I'll find no fault with you.

I'll help you if I can." I received a sigh for my answer, and another and another, as she walked by my side, hanging her head.

But when I urged her to speak, she raised her eyes to mine, and there was a cold, angry glint in them as she asked:-- "Do you mean-- ?" She did not mention Hamilton's name, but I knew whom she meant and answered:-- "Yes." A long pause followed, during which I was unable to read the expression on her face, but presently she spoke, her voice trembling with anger or emotion, I knew not which:-- "I hate him! If he were to touch my hand, I believe I should want to cut it off! I hate him--that is, I try to hate him." Her words and manner caused me uneasiness in two respects: first, it led me to fear that she loved Hamilton; and second, in view of the rumors I had heard connecting his name with Roger Wentworth's death, it flashed upon me that possibly he was the man she had recognized by the light of Noah's lanthorn.