"I would have had you leave me still a hope upon which I could have
existed, until I had fitted myself to enter an honorable profession;
until I had a prospect of earning an independence through that
profession; until I had the right to say to you (as I now might, were
you but mine in heart), Madeleine, I have waited patiently, and toiled
earnestly,--will you share my narrow means, my almost poverty? Will you
be my wife? We might have been exiles, so to speak, for we should
perhaps have been cast off by our own kindred, and might never have
returned to our native land; but your presence would have made this new
country,--this young Hercules of lands,--this land full of sinews, bones
and muscle, not yet clothed with rounded symmetry of outward form, but
fresh and strong and teeming with promise, a true home to us. Its vast,
ever-growing mind would have given new expansion to our own mental
faculties. We should have grown spiritually, and reached nobler heights
together. If we had griefs to endure, grief itself would have been sweet
to me if we drank it from the same cup. All this might have been,
Madeleine, if you had loved me as I love you."

Madeleine passed her hand over her eyes as if to shut out some picture
of blinding brightness conjured before them by his words; and, looking
up with forced serenity, said,--

"Maurice, though I cannot be your wife, do you refuse to let me take the
place of a sister?--a sister who loves you with the most tender
affection,--who will rejoice in your joy and share your sorrow, and look
upon her own life as brighter if she brightens yours? Since it has been
the will of Heaven that we should meet again before the time I proposed
arrived, there is no need that we should become strangers to each other.
Because I cannot be _all_ that you desire, you will not reject such
affection as I _can_ offer you?"

"Reject it? No, _rejection_ has only emanated from your side," he
continued bitterly. "I was and am unworthy of your affection, your
confidence; but what you will grant I will thankfully receive, too poor
not to feel enriched even by your coldest regard."

"Will you prove that to me, Maurice?"

"Yes; how can I do so?"

"By promising that you will never have a sorrow which you do not confide
to me; by promising that you will never doubt my ready sympathy; more
yet,--by giving me an invaluable privilege,--one which will make me
proud indeed. Do not be offended, Maurice; but--but--sh