e to-day would have
sweetened the past years of trial?"
"Because I knew it would not have that effect. A belief of my indifference
steeled you against me--nerved you to endurance. But a knowledge of the
truth would have increased your acrimony of feeling toward him whom you
regarded as the chief obstacle, and this, at all hazards, I was resolved to
avoid. Because I realized so fully the necessity of estrangement, I should
never have acquainted you with my own feelings had I not known that a long,
and perhaps final, separation now stretches before us. In the painful
course which duty imposed on me, I have striven to promote your ultimate
happiness, rather than my own."
"Irene, how can you persuade yourself that it is your duty to obey an
unjust and tyrannical decree, which sacrifices the happiness of two to the
unreasonable vindictiveness of one?"
"Russell, do not urge me; it is useless. Spare me the pain of repeated
refusals, and be satisfied with what I have given you. Believe that my
heart is, and ever will be, yours entirely, though my hand you can never
claim. I know what I owe my father, and I will pay to the last iota; and I
know as well what I owe myself, and, therefore, I shall live true to my
first and only love, and die Irene Huntingdon. More than this you have no
right to ask--I no right to grant. Be patient, Russell; be generous."
"Do you intend to send me from you? To meet me henceforth as a stranger?"
"Circumstances, which I cannot control, make it necessary."
"At least you will let me hear from you sometimes? You will give me the
privilege of writing to you?"
"Impossible, Russell; do not ask that of me."
"Oh, Irene! you are cruel! Why withhold that melancholy comfort from me?"
"Simply for the reason that it would unavoidably prove a source of pain to
both. I judge you by myself. I want neither your usefulness in life nor
mine impaired by continual weak repining. If your life is spared I shall
anxiously watch your career, rejoicing in all your honours, and your noble
use of the talents which God gave you for the benefit of your race and the
advancement of truth."
"I am not as noble as you think me; my ambition is not as unselfish as you
suppose. Under your influence other aims and motives might possess me."
"You mistake your nature. Your intellect and temperament stamp you one of
the few who receive little impression from extraneous influences; and it is
because of this stern, obstina
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