spise myself
were I guilty of the wicked and vulgar prejudice universal in America. I
should be beneath contempt did I submit or consent to it. Two years ago
I loved Miss Ercildoune without knowing aught of her birth. She is the
same now as then; should I love her the less? If anything hard or cruel
is in her fate that love can soften, it shall be done. If any painful
burdens have been thrown upon her life, I can carry, if not the whole,
then a part of them. If I cannot put her into a safe shelter where no
ill will befall her, I can at least take her into my arms and go with
her through the world. It will be easier for us, I think,--I hope,--to
face any fate if we are together. Ah, sir, do not prevent it; do not
deny me this happiness. Be my ambassador, since she will not let me
speak for myself, and plead my own cause."

In his earnestness he had come close to Mr. Ercildoune, putting out his
one hand with a gesture of entreaty, with a tone in his voice, and a
look in his face, irresistible to hear and behold. Ercildoune took the
hand, and held it in a close, firm grasp. Some strong emotion shook him.
The expression, a combination of sadness and scorn, which commonly held
possession of his eyes, went out of them, leaving them radiant. "No," he
said, "I will say nothing for you. I would not for worlds spoil your
plea; prevent her hearing, from your own mouth, what you have to say. I
will send her to you,"--and, going to a door, gave the order to a
servant, "Desire Miss Francesca to come to the parlor." Then, motioning
Surrey to the room, he went away, buried in thought.

Standing in the parlor, for he was too restless to sit, he tried to plan
how he should meet her; to think of a sentence which at the outset
should disarm her indignation at being thus thrust upon him, and convey
in some measure the thought of which his heart was full, without
trespassing on her reserve, or telling her of the letter which he had
read. Then another fear seized him; it was two years since he had
written,--two years since that painful and terrible scene had been
enacted in the very room where he stood,--two years since she had
confessed by deed and look that she loved him. Might she not have
changed? might she not have struggled for the mastery of this feeling
with only too certain success? might she not have learned to regard him
with esteem, perchance,--with friendship,--sentiment,--anything but that
which he desired or would claim at her