he sense of helplessness is more; the lover who is
refused feels not unlike the soldier who is wounded to death.

This sorrow compares in dignity and terror with the most sublime sorrows
of which humanity is capable. The death of a parent or child, though
rendered more imposing to the spectator by the ceremonies of the
sepulchre, does not chill the heart more deeply than the death of love. It
lasts also; many a human being has carried the marks of it for life; and
surely duration of effect is proof of power. We are serious in making
these declarations, strange as they may seem to a satirical age. What we
have said is strictly true, notwithstanding the mockery of those who have
never loved, or the incredulity of those who, having loved, have never
lost. But probably only the wretchedly initiated will believe.

Coronado, though selfish, infamous, and atrocious, was so far susceptible
of affection that he was susceptible of suffering. The simple fact of
pallor in that hardened face was sufficient proof of torture.

However, it stood him in hand to recover his self-possession and plead his
suit. There was too much at stake in this cause for him to let it go
without a struggle and a vehement one. Although he had seen at once that
the girl was in earnest, he tried to believe that she was not so, and that
he could move her.

"My dear cousin!" he implored in a voice that was mellow with agitation,
"don't decide against me at once and forever. I must have some hope. Pity
me."

"Ah, Coronado! Why will you?" urged Clara, in great trouble.

"I must! You must not stop me!" he persisted eagerly. "My life is in it. I
love you so that I don't know how I shall end if you will not hearken to
me. I shall be driven to desperation. Why do you turn away from me? Is it
my fault that I care for you? It is your own. You are _so_ beautiful!"

"Coronado, I wish I were very ugly," murmured Clara, for the moment
sincere in so wishing.

"Is there anything you dislike in me? I have been as kind as I knew how to
be."

"It is true, Coronado. You have overwhelmed me with your goodness. I could
go on my knees to thank you."

"Then--why?"

"Ah! why will you force me to say hard things? Don't you see that it
tortures me to refuse you?"

"Then why refuse me? Why torture us both?"

"Better a little pain now than much through life."

"Do you mean to say that you never can--?" He could not finish the
question.

"It is so, Coronado. I never c