t too severe. "Wilt thou protect
him too? wilt thou for my sake forget what he is, and be to him a
son?" He turned from her with a stifled groan. "Thou canst not--I knew
it--oh bless thee for thy generous love; but tempt me no more, Arthur;
it cannot be; I dare not be thy bride."

"And yet thou speakest of love. 'Tis false, thou canst not love me,"
and Stanley sprung to his feet disappointed, wounded, till he scarce
knew what he said. "I would give up Spain and her monarch's love for
thee. I would live in slavery beneath a tyrant's rule to give thee a
home of love. I would forget, trample on, annihilate the prejudices
of a life, unite the pure blood of Stanley with the darkened torrent
running through thy veins, forget thy race, descent, all but thine own
sweet self. I would do this, all this for love of thee. And for
me, what wilt thou do?--reject me, bid me leave thee--and yet thou
speakest of love: 'tis false, thou lovest another better!"

"Ay!" replied Marie, in a tone which startled him, "ay, thou hast
rightly spoken; thy words have recalled what in this deep agony I had
well nigh forgotten. There is a love, a duty stronger than that I bear
to thee. I would resign all else, but not my father's God."

The words were few and simple; but the tone in which they were spoken
recalled Arthur's better nature, and banished hope at once. A pause
ensued, broken only by the young man's hurried tread, as he traversed
the little platform in the vain struggle for calmness. On him this
blow had fallen wholly unprepared; Marie had faced it from the moment
they had parted fifteen months before, and her only prayer had been (a
fearful one for a young and loving heart), that Stanley would forget
her, and they might never meet again. But this was not to be; and
though she had believed herself prepared, one look on his face, one
sound of his voice had proved how vain had been her dream.

"I will obey thee, Marie," Stanley said, at length, pausing before
her. "I will leave thee now, but not--not for ever. No, no; if indeed
thou lovest me time will not change thee, if thou hast one sacred tie,
when nature severs that, and thou art alone on earth, thou shalt be
mine, whatever be thy race."

"Hope it not, ask it not! Oh, Arthur, better thou shouldst hate me, as
thy people do my race: I cannot bear such gentle words," faltered poor
Marie, as her head sunk for a minute on his bosom, and the pent-up
tears burst forth. "But this is folly,"