ope for me, if your father continues in his
present humor, I am at a loss to see. There is one thing, however--there
is one pledge that I would exact from you before we part."

He took her hand tenderly as he spoke, and his eyes, glistening with
tearful expectation, were fixed upon her own; but she did not
immediately reply. She seemed rather to await the naming of the pledge
of which he spoke. There was a struggle going on between her mind and
her affections; and though, in the end, the latter seemed to obtain the
mastery, the sense of propriety, the moral guardianship of her own
spirit battled sternly and fearlessly against their suggestions. She
would make no promise which might, by any possibility, bind her to an
engagement inconsistent with other and primary obligations.

"I know not, Mark, what may be the pledge which you would have from me,
to which I could consent with propriety. When I hear your desires,
plainly expressed to my understanding, I shall better know how to reply.
You heard the language of my father: I must obey his wishes as far as I
know them. Though sometimes rough, and irregular in his habits, to me he
has been at all times tender and kind: I would not now disobey his
commands. Still, in this matter, my heart inclines too much in your
favor not to make me less scrupulous than I should otherwise desire to
be. Besides, I have so long held myself yours, and with his sanction,
that I can the more easily listen to your entreaties. If, then you truly
love me, you will, I am sure, ask nothing that I should not grant.
Speak--what is the pledge?"

"It shall come with no risk, Kate, believe me, none. Heaven forbid that
I should bring a solitary grief to your bosom; yet it may adventure in
some respects both mind and person, if you be not wary. Knowing your
father, as you know him too, I would have from you a pledge--a promise,
here, solemnly uttered in the eye of Heaven, and in the holy stillness
of this place, which has witnessed other of our vows no less sacred and
solemn, that, should he sanction the prayer of another who seeks your
love, and command your obedience, that you will not obey--that you will
not go quietly a victim to the altar--that you will not pledge to
another the same vow which has been long since pledged to me."

He paused a moment for a reply, but she spoke not; and with something
like impetuosity he proceeded:--

"You make no reply, Katharine? You hear my entreaty--my prayer. It