By this time he had sat down: he had laid the picture on the table

before him, and with his brow supported on both hands, hung fondly

over it. I discerned he was now neither angry nor shocked at my

audacity. I saw even that to be thus frankly addressed on a subject

he had deemed unapproachable--to hear it thus freely handled--was

beginning to be felt by him as a new pleasure--an unhoped-for

relief. Reserved people often really need the frank discussion of

their sentiments and griefs more than the expansive. The sternest-

seeming stoic is human after all; and to "burst" with boldness and

good-will into "the silent sea" of their souls is often to confer on

them the first of obligations.

"She likes you, I am sure," said I, as I stood behind his chair,

"and her father respects you. Moreover, she is a sweet girl--rather

thoughtless; but you would have sufficient thought for both yourself

and her. You ought to marry her."

"DOES she like me?" he asked.

"Certainly; better than she likes any one else. She talks of you

continually: there is no subject she enjoys so much or touches upon

so often."

"It is very pleasant to hear this," he said--"very: go on for

another quarter of an hour." And he actually took out his watch and

laid it upon the table to measure the time.

"But where is the use of going on," I asked, "when you are probably

preparing some iron blow of contradiction, or forging a fresh chain

to fetter your heart?"

"Don't imagine such hard things. Fancy me yielding and melting, as

I am doing: human love rising like a freshly opened fountain in my

mind and overflowing with sweet inundation all the field I have so

carefully and with such labour prepared--so assiduously sown with

the seeds of good intentions, of self-denying plans. And now it is

deluged with a nectarous flood--the young germs swamped--delicious

poison cankering them: now I see myself stretched on an ottoman in

the drawing-room at Vale Hall at my bride Rosamond Oliver's feet:

she is talking to me with her sweet voice--gazing down on me with

those eyes your skilful hand has copied so well--smiling at me with

these coral lips. She is mine--I am hers--this present life and

passing world suffice to me. Hush! say nothing--my heart is full of

delight--my senses are entranced--let the time I marked pass in

peace."

I humoured him: the watch ticked on: he breathed fast and low: I

stood silent. Amidst this hush the quartet sped; he replaced the

watch, laid the picture down, rose, and stood on the hearth.




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