, why do you love me, who cannot return your
affection worthily? No, Lord Vargrave; there are many who must see you
with juster eyes than mine,--many fairer, and even wealthier. Indeed,
indeed, it cannot be. Do not be offended, but think that the fortune
left to me was on one condition I cannot, ought not to fulfil. Failing
that condition, in equity and honour it reverts to you."

"Talk not thus, I implore you, Evelyn; do not imagine me the worldly
calculator that my enemies deem me. But, to remove at once from your
mind the possibility of such a compromise between your honour and
repugnance--repugnance! have I lived to say that word?--know that your
fortune is not at your own disposal. Save the small forfeit that awaits
your non-compliance with my uncle's dying prayer, the whole is settled
peremptorily on yourself and your children; it is entailed,--you cannot
alienate it. Thus, then, your generosity can never be evinced but to him
on whom you bestow your hand. Ah, let me recall that melancholy scene.
Your benefactor on his death-bed, your mother kneeling by his side, your
hand clasped in mine, and those lips, with their latest breath, uttering
at once a blessing and a command."

"Ah, cease, cease, my lord!" said Evelyn, sobbing.

"No; bid me not cease before you tell me you will be mine. Beloved
Evelyn, I may hope,--you will not resolve against me?"

"No," said Evelyn, raising her eyes and struggling for composure; "I
feel too well what should be my duty; I will endeavor to perform it. Ask
me no more now. I will struggle to answer you as you wish hereafter."

Lord Vargrave, resolved to push to the utmost the advantage he had
gained, was about to reply when he heard a step behind him; and turning
round, quickly and discomposed, beheld a venerable form approaching
them. The occasion was lost: Evelyn also turned; and seeing who was the
intruder, sprang towards him almost with a cry of joy.

The new comer was a man who had passed his seventieth year; but his
old age was green, his step light, and on his healthful and benignant
countenance time had left but few furrows. He was clothed in black; and
his locks, which were white as snow, escaped from the broad hat, and
almost touched his shoulders.

The old man smiled upon Evelyn, and kissed her forehead fondly. He then
turned to Lord Vargrave, who, recovering his customary self-possession,
advanced to meet him with extended hand.

"My dear Mr. Aubrey, this is a welco