ment. She would write
to Daniel, and remind him of his promise to set her free if she so
willed it. She would never see him again. She would tell him that
she had striven to see things as he would have taught her, and had
failed. She would abuse herself, and ask for his pardon;--but having
thus judged for herself, she would never go back from such judgment.
It might be done,--if only she could persuade herself that it were
good to do it! But, as she thought of it, there came upon her a prick
of conscience so sharp, that she could not welcome the devil by
leaving it unheeded. How could she be foresworn to one who had been
so absolutely good,--whose all had been spent for her and for her
mother,--whose whole life had been one long struggle of friendship on
her behalf,--who had been the only playfellow of her youth, the only
man she had ever ventured to kiss,--the man whom she truly loved? He
had warned her against these gauds which were captivating her spirit,
and now, in the moment of her peril, she would remember his warnings.

"Shall it be so?" Lord Lovel asked again, just stretching out his
hand, so that he could touch the fold of her garment.

"It cannot be so," she said.

"Cannot be!"

"It cannot be so, Lord Lovel."

"It cannot now;--or do you mean the word to be for ever?"

"For ever!" she replied.

"I know that I have been hurried and sudden," he said,--purposely
passing by her last assurance; "and I do feel that you have a right
to resent the seeming assurance of such haste. But in our case,
dearest, the interests of so many are concerned, the doubts and
fears, the well-being, and even the future conduct of all our friends
are so bound up by the result, that I had hoped you would have
pardoned that which would otherwise have been unpardonable." Oh
heavens;--had it not been for Daniel Thwaite, how full of grace, how
becoming, how laden with flattering courtesy would have been every
word that he had uttered to her! "But," he continued, "if it really
be that you cannot love me--"

"Oh, Lord Lovel, pray ask of me no further question."

"I am bound to ask and to know,--for all our sakes."

Then she rose quickly to her feet, and with altered gait and changed
countenance stood over him. "I am engaged," she said, "to be
married--to Mr. Daniel Thwaite." She had told it all, and felt that
she had told her own disgrace. He rose also, but stood mute before
her. This was the very thing of which they had all warne