of Heaven, let me pray you to be
mine. I have staked my happiness upon this venture. In your power is my
fate. On you it depends whether I shall discharge my duty to society,
to the country to which I owe so much, or whether I shall move in it
without an aim, an object, or a hope. Think, think only of the sympathy
of our dispositions; the similarity of our tastes. Think, think only of
the felicity that might be ours. Think of the universal good we might
achieve! Is there anything that human reason could require that we could
not command? any object which human mind could imagine that we could not
obtain? And, as for myself, I swear that I will be the creature of your
will. Nay, nay! oaths are mockery, vows are idle! Is it possible to
share existence with you, beloved girl! without watching for your every
wish, without--'

'My Lord Duke, this must end. You do not recommend yourself to me by
this rhapsody. What do you know of me, that you should feel all this? I
may be different from what you expected; that is all. Another week, and
another woman may command a similar effusion. I do not believe you to
be insincere. There would be more hope for you if you were. You act
from impulse, and not from principle. This is your best excuse for your
conduct to my father. It is one that I accept, but which will certainly
ever prevent me from becoming your wife. Farewell!' 'Nay, nay! let us
not part in enmity!' 'Enmity and friendship are strong words; words
that are much abused. There is another, which must describe our feelings
towards the majority of mankind, and mine towards you. Substitute for
enmity indifference.'

She quitted the room: he remained there for some minutes, leaning on the
mantelpiece, and then rushed into the park. He hurried for some distance
with the rapid and uncertain step which betokens a tumultuous and
disordered mind. At length he found himself among the ruins of Dacre
Abbey. The silence and solemnity of the scene made him conscious, by the
contrast, of his own agitated existence; the desolation of the beautiful
ruin accorded with his own crushed and beautiful hopes. He sat himself
at the feet of the clustered columns, and, covering his face with his
hands, he wept.

They were the first tears that he had shed since childhood, and they
were agony. Men weep but once, but then their tears are blood. We think
almost their hearts must crack a little, so heartless are they ever
after. Enough of this.

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