It was now more than a year since Adelheid had become fully sensible of
the force of her attachment for Sigismund Steinbach, and during all that
time she had struggled hard to overcome a feeling which she believed could
lead to no happy result. The declaration of the young man himself, a
declaration that was extorted involuntarily and in a moment of powerful
passion, was accompanied by an admission of its uselessness and folly, and
it first opened her eyes to the state of her own feelings. Though she had
listened, as all of her sex will listen, even when the passion is
hopeless, to such words coming from lips they love, it was with a
self-command that enabled her to retain her own secret, and with a settled
and pious resolution to do that which she believed to be her duty to
herself, to her father, and to Sigismund. From that hour she ceased to see
him, unless under circumstances when it would have drawn suspicion on her
motives to refuse, and while she never appeared to forget her heavy
obligations to the youth, she firmly denied herself the pleasure of even
mentioning his name when it could be avoided.
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