167 



She raised her head slowly, shook hack her hair 

 from her eyes, and looked full in his face. " No I" 



"What is it then? — speak, for the love of God! 

 Bpeak to me, Mary Merton." 



"I cannot tell you." 



" Is it your father who opposes ?" 



She shook her head. 



" Another, whom you prefer — ?'* 



She looked at him, but spoke not. 



" Pardon ! whom you are forced to wed ?'* 



" Death could not force me." 



" You torture me." 



" I know it — yet myself am tortured more. I can- 

 not tell you any thing, but only this : I cannot be 

 yours 710W — I fear I cannot ever. And yet I cannot 

 tell you wherefore, and I must bear your ill opinion ; 

 you must think me wicked, heartless, false — " 



" Hush ! hush ! I will not hear you !" and he spoke 

 for the first time in his life, to her, sternly. " One 

 question. You say, you cannot wed me now T' 



"I cannot." 



" And, perhaps, never T' 



"Perhaps never." 



"And you will not tell me wherefore ?" 



"I cannot,'" 



"And yet, Mary Merton, you — you — Mary Mer- 

 ton — you — ?" 



"Love you, Fairfax, now and for ever, here and 

 hereafter. Love you through joy and hope, through 

 anguish and despair. You, and you only." 



" I am not all unhappy." 



And he caught her close, close to his embrace, and 

 she forbid him not, but returned his embrace ; but the 

 embrace and the kiss were clay cold, and her icy tears 

 bedewed his brow. 



" And you do not hate me ?" she said, with a strange, 

 calm expression. 



