ou choose rather to leave us miserable; and you
coolly tell me it is the will of God that we should remain so. You may
call this religion, but I call it wild fanaticism!'

'There is another life both for you and for me,' said I. 'If it be the
will of God that we should sow in tears now, it is only that we may reap
in joy hereafter. It is His will that we should not injure others by the
gratification of our own earthly passions; and you have a mother, and
sisters, and friends who would be seriously injured by your disgrace; and
I, too, have friends, whose peace of mind shall never be sacrificed to my
enjoyment, or yours either, with my consent; and if I were alone in the
world, I have still my God and my religion, and I would sooner die than
disgrace my calling and break my faith with heaven to obtain a few brief
years of false and fleeting happiness--happiness sure to end in misery
even here--for myself or any other!'

'There need be no disgrace, no misery or sacrifice in any quarter,'
persisted he. 'I do not ask you to leave your home or defy the world's
opinion.' But I need not repeat all his arguments. I refuted them to
the best of my power; but that power was provokingly small, at the
moment, for I was too much flurried with indignation--and even
shame--that he should thus dare to address me, to retain sufficient
command of thought and language to enable me adequately to contend
against his powerful sophistries. Finding, however, that he could not be
silenced by reason, and even covertly exulted in his seeming advantage,
and ventured to deride those assertions I had not the coolness to prove,
I changed my course and tried another plan.

'Do you really love me?' said I, seriously, pausing and looking him
calmly in the face.

'Do I love you!' cried he.

'Truly?' I demanded.

His countenance brightened; he thought his triumph was at hand. He
commenced a passionate protestation of the truth and fervour of his
attachment, which I cut short by another question:--

'But is it not a selfish love? Have you enough disinterested affection
to enable you to sacrifice your own pleasure to mine?'

'I would give my life to serve you.'

'I don't want your life; but have you enough real sympathy for my
afflictions to induce you to make an effort to relieve them, at the risk
of a little discomfort to yourself?'

'Try me, and see.'

'If you have, never mention this subject again. You cannot recur to it
in any wa