It was a simple proposal of marriage from the lips of a man I
respected and liked; a man of talent, and wealth and position, who
flattered me by so generous an offer of his love. There was a glow of
fire about his sentiment, mine had none, and yet I could not have
given him up at that moment for all the world. I liked him, and I
wanted to teach myself to like him still more. He had given up the
attractions of worldly life on my account, and had gone back to the
simple faith of his boyhood, he said my memory had been his only
safe-guard where he had hitherto known no law, that I had "started up
in the darkness of his life" like a steady and hopeful beacon-light
that beckoned him on to better purposes.
"Whether you consent to marry me, or not" said he "I shall always be
the better of having known and loved you, and, if you cannot love me
in return, it will satisfy you perhaps to know that you have done me a
great good otherwise."
I sat in silence for a moment, listening to the deep vibrations of his
solemn voice, ringing through the quiet little room, the hand that
supported my thoughtful face had grown cold and clammy, something
weighed upon my heart, like an unfolded mystery, pregnant with sorrow
or joy, I knew not which. He stood beside me, leaning one elbow
against the broad, old fashioned mantel, and looking into the fire--at
length I raised my eyes, and said with a timid voice.
"I do not deserve your love, Arthur--though I would now, if I could,
if it were in my power.
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