I trusted it was only a servant, and did not stir.

The door was closed again--but I was not alone; a hand gently touched my shoulder, and a voice said, softly,--'Helen, what is the matter ?' I could not answer at the moment.
'You must, and shall tell me,' was added, more vehemently, and the speaker threw himself on his knees beside me on the rug, and forcibly possessed himself of my hand; but I hastily caught it away, and replied,--'It is nothing to you, Mr.Huntingdon.' 'Are you sure it is nothing to me ?' he returned; 'can you swear that you were not thinking of me while you wept ?' This was unendurable.

I made an effort to rise, but he was kneeling on my dress.
'Tell me,' continued he--'I want to know,--because if you were, I have something to say to you,--and if not, I'll go.' 'Go then!' I cried; but, fearing he would obey too well, and never come again, I hastily added--'Or say what you have to say, and have done with it!' 'But which ?' said he--'for I shall only say it if you really were thinking of me.

So tell me, Helen.' 'You're excessively impertinent, Mr.Huntingdon!' 'Not at all--too pertinent, you mean.

So you won't tell me ?--Well, I'll spare your woman's pride, and, construing your silence into "Yes," I'll take it for granted that I was the subject of your thoughts, and the cause of your affliction--' 'Indeed, sir--' 'If you deny it, I won't tell you my secret,' threatened he; and I did not interrupt him again, or even attempt to repulse him: though he had taken my hand once more, and half embraced me with his other arm, I was scarcely conscious of it at the time.
'It is this,' resumed he: 'that Annabella Wilmot, in comparison with you, is like a flaunting peony compared with a sweet, wild rosebud gemmed with dew--and I love you to distraction!--Now, tell me if that intelligence gives you any pleasure.