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She sighed.
"Your countenance (resumed he in a solemn voice, and taking her hand), renders concealment with you impossible; I shall not therefore ask what has disordered you, for your looks have informed me."
Madeline involuntarily averted her head.
"Yes (continued he), I know your present ideas. But, Oh, Madeline! reflect on the tenor of my conduct, on the precepts I instilled into your mind, and then think whether you have done me justice or injustice in harbouring them?"
Madeline withdrew her hands, and covered her face.
"I forgive you, however (proceeded St. Julian), from my soul I forgive you. I know a strange combination of circumstances excited your suspicions—circumstance which I may yet perhaps satisfactorily account for:
