She was, by nature, exceedingly tender of heart, and she turned her pretty eyes in astonished grief at Bernard, handsome, melancholy, musing.
"Ah, Mr.Belgrave, something terrible is gnawing at your heart for one so young, so brilliant, so prosperous as you are to talk thus.

Make a confidante of me and let me help to remove the load, if I can." Bernard was silent and eat gazing out on the quiet flowing waters.
Viola's eyes eagerly scanned his face as if to divine his secret.
Bernard resumed speaking: "I have gone forth into life to win certain honors and snatch from fame a wreath, and now that I have succeeded, I behold this evening, as never before, that it is not worthy of the purpose for which I designed it.

My work is all in vain." "Mr.Belgrave, you must not talk so sadly," said Viola, almost ready to cry.
Bernard turned and suddenly grasped Viola's hands and said in passionate tones: "Viola, I love you.

I have nothing to offer you worthy of you.

I can find nothing worthy, attain nothing worthy.