ou find him hearty and in earnest, marry him.'

I gave him a look full of horror at those words, and, turning pale as
death, was at the very point of sinking down out of the chair I sat in;
when, giving a start, 'My dear,' says he aloud, 'what's the matter with
you? Where are you a-going?' and a great many such things; and with
jogging and called to me, fetched me a little to myself, though it was
a good while before I fully recovered my senses, and was not able to
speak for several minutes more.

When I was fully recovered he began again. 'My dear,' says he, 'what
made you so surprised at what I said? I would have you consider
seriously of it? You may see plainly how the family stand in this
case, and they would be stark mad if it was my case, as it is my
brother's; and for aught I see, it would be my ruin and yours too.'

'Ay!' says I, still speaking angrily; 'are all your protestations and
vows to be shaken by the dislike of the family? Did I not always
object that to you, and you made light thing of it, as what you were
above, and would value; and is it come to this now?' said I. 'Is this
your faith and honour, your love, and the solidity of your promises?'

He continued perfectly calm, notwithstanding all my reproaches, and I
was not sparing of them at all; but he replied at last, 'My dear, I
have not broken one promise with you yet; I did tell you I would marry
you when I was come to my estate; but you see my father is a hale,
healthy man, and may live these thirty years still, and not be older
than several are round us in town; and you never proposed my marrying
you sooner, because you knew it might be my ruin; and as to all the
rest, I have not failed you in anything, you have wanted for nothing.'

I could not deny a word of this, and had nothing to say to it in
general. 'But why, then,' says I, 'can you persuade me to such a
horrid step as leaving you, since you have not left me? Will you allow
no affection, no love on my side, where there has been so much on your
side? Have I made you no returns? Have I given no testimony of my
sincerity and of my passion? Are the sacrifices I have made of honour
and modesty to you no proof of my being tied to you in bonds too strong
to be broken?'

'But here, my dear,' says he, 'you may come into a safe station, and
appear with honour and with splendour at once, and the remembrance of
what we have done may be wrapt up in an eternal silence, as if it had
never