ies as it must encounter, you seem to omit one slight element
in calculating your terrors, and that simple element is a host in
itself."

"Which is?"

"Love for you, dear Charles. I know you may probably feel that this
avowal ought to be expressed with more hesitation, veiled over by
the hypocrisy of language, disguised by the hackneyed forms of mere
sentiment, uttered like the assertions of a coquette, and degraded by
that tampering with truth which makes the heart lie unto itself. Oh,
yes!--perhaps, Charles, you may think that because I fail to express
what I feel in that spirit of ambiguity which a love not confident
in the truth, purity, and rectitude of its own principles must always
borrow--that because my heart fails to approach yours by the usual
circuitous route with which ordinary hearts do approach--yes, you may
imagine for all these reasons that my affection is not--but--" and here
she checked herself--"why," she added, with dignity, whilst her cheeks
glowed and her eyes sparkled, "why should I apologize for the avowal of
a love of which I am not ashamed, and which has its strongest defence in
the worth and honor of its object?"

Tears of enthusiasm rushed down her cheeks as she spoke, and her lover
could only say, "Dearest Lucy, most beloved of my heart, your language,
your sentiments, your feelings--so pure, so noble, so far above those
commonplaces of your sex, only cause me to shrink almost into nothing
when I compare or contrast myself with you. Let, however, one principle
guide us--the confidence that our love is mutual and cannot be
disturbed. I am for the present placed in circumstances that are
exceedingly painful. In point of fact, I am wrapped in obscurity and
shadow, and there exists, besides, a possibility that I may not become,
in point of fortune, such a man as you might possibly wish to look upon
as your husband."

"If you are now suffering your fine mind, Charles, to become
unconsciously warped by the common prejudices of life, I beseech you to
reflect upon the heart to which you address yourself. Society presents
not a single prejudice which in any degree aids or supports virtue, and
truth, and honor, that I do not cherish, and wish you to cherish; but if
you imagine that you will become less dear to me because you may fail to
acquire some of the artificial dignities or honors of life, then it is
clear that you know not how to estimate the spirit and character of Lucy
Grourlay."

"I