Mishope

This tree was defective in both, yielding nothing but an empty shade to the mishoping traveller.

Not destitute of love to God or Man; But with a serpent's quiet, hissing, hate, To whoso misbelieves, misdeems, mishopes; Nor sparing God himself, if God should spare, Nor loving whoso deems His name is Love, Nor speaking truly of who seeks but truth.

It was then that Hector was sure that he had won, mishoping, misreading her erotic fervor for a deeper devotion; for he was too young and ignorant to know that she was not acting or dissembling but rather offering herself to his pure and towering want, […]

I was nearhand in utter mishope.

People who are older must know that as life advances it is only a series of hopes and mishopes with something infinite pulling them toward the end.

“Mishope?” What sort of a name was that? The ton was prone to bestowing nicknames on people he knew, but mishope?