peak, then, at once; in pity to that weakness which makes me feel
as if my lasting happiness or misery depends upon your answer."

"And do you, Edward, do you love my poor child?" asked the father, with
a quivering lip and glistening eye, as he laid his hand, which trembled,
on the young man's shoulder.

"Love her? oh, Mr. Grahame, she has been the bright beaming star that
has shone on my ocean course for many a long year. I know not when I
first began to love, but from my cousin Caroline's wedding-day the
thoughts of Lilla lingered with me, and gilded many a vision of domestic
peace and love, and each time I looked on her bright face, and marked
her kindling spirit, heard and responded inwardly to her animated voice,
I felt that she was dearer still; and when again I saw her in her
sorrow, and sought with Ellen to soothe and cheer her, oh, no one can
know the pain it was to restrain the absorbing wish to ask her, if
indeed one day she would be mine, but that was no time to speak of love.
Besides, I knew not if I had the means to offer her a comfortable home,
I knew not how long I might be spared to linger near her; but now, when
of both I am assured, wherefore should I hesitate longer? With the
title of captain, that for which I have so long pined, I am at liberty
to retire on half-pay, till farther orders; the adopted son and
acknowledged heir to my uncle, Lord Delmont, I have now enough to offer
her my hand, without one remaining scruple. You are silent. Oh, Mr.
Grahame, must I plead in vain?"

"And would you marry her, would you indeed take my child as your chosen
bride?" faltered Grahame, deeply moved. "Honoured, titled as you are, my
poor, portionless Lilla is no meet bride for you."

"Perish honours and title too, if they could deprive me of the gentle
girl I love!" exclaimed the young captain, impetuously. "Do not speak
thus, Mr. Grahame. In what was my lamented father better than
yourself--my mother than Lady Helen? and if she were in very truth my
inferior in birth, the virtues and beauty of Lilla Grahame would do
honour to the proudest peer of this proud land."

"My boy, my gallant boy!" sobbed the agitated father, his irritability
gone, dissolved, like the threatening cloud of a summer day beneath some
genial sunbeam, and as he wrung Captain Fortescue's hand again and again
in his, the tears streamed like an infant's down his cheek.

"_Will_ I consent, _will_ I give you my blessing? Oh, to see you the