her 'please don't!'

At last she mustered courage to say, 'I can't listen, sir. I never
ought to have done it. I am promised now, and I can't.'

A melodramatic burst of indignation frightened her nearly out of her
senses, and happily brought Jane down. He was going the next day, but
he returned once more to the charge, very dolorous and ill-used; but
Charlotte had collected herself and taken counsel by that time. 'I
never promised you anything, sir,' she said. 'I never knew you meant
nothing.'

'Ah! Miss Arnold, you cannot interpret the heart!' and he put his hand
upon it.

'Nor I don't believe you meant it, neither!' continued Charlotte, with
spirit. 'They tell me 'tis the way you goes on with all young women as
have the ill-luck to believe you, and that 'tis all along of your
hard-heartedness that poor Miss Marianne looks so dwining.'

'When ladies will throw themselves at a gentleman's head, what can a
poor man do? Courtesy to the sex is my motto; but never, never did I
love as I love you!' said Delaford--'never have I spoken as I do now!
My heart and hand are yours, fairest Charlotte!'

'For shame, Mr. Delaford; don't you know I am promised?'

He went on, disregarding--'My family is above my present situation,
confidential though it be; but I would at once quit my present post--I
would open an extensive establishment for refreshment at some
fashionable watering-place. My connexions could not fail to make it
succeed. You should merely superintend--have a large establishment
under you--and enjoy the society and amusements for which you are
eminently fitted. We would have a library of romance and
poetry--attend the theatre weekly--and,'--(finishing as if to clench
the whole) 'Charlotte, do you know what my property consists of? I
have four hundred pounds and expectations!'

If Charlotte had not been guarded, what would have been the effect of
the library of poetry and romance?

But her own poetry, romance, and honest heart, all went the same way,
and she cried out--'I don't care what you have, not I. I've promised,
and I'll be true--get along with you!'

The village girl, hard pressed, was breaking out.

'You bid me go. Cruel girl! your commands shall be obeyed. I go
abroad! You know the disturbed state of the Continent.--In some
conflict for liberty, where the desperate poniard is uplifted--there--'

'Oh! don't talk so dreadful. Pray--'

'Do you bid me pause? At a word from you. You ar