"And did I not love you?—Yes, Claudina," replied he, "from the first moment I adored you; but could I see my brother wretched?—Or could I hope you would reserve the blessing of your hand for me until my father's death? Neither dared I think of marrying you to involve you in wretchedness. Had you suffered for me, what I have known you to bear with Ferdinand, I should have been distracted. No, Claudina, such was the delicacy of my passion, that I chose to be miserable myself, rather than make the woman I adored unhappy; to lay her under the interdiction of a father, the weight of a curse would have sunk me to the grave."
Not a word of this was lost on Claudina; every syllable sunk into her soul; she began to reflect on what she had forfeited by marrying Ferdinand, and blamed the ardour of that love which had sought its own gratification at her expense. Rhodophil saw the workings of her mind, and pursued his insidious tale.
