‘I’ll make the best speed, and bring him to you immediately,’ returned my mother, hastening away, and leaving me and the earl alone.
Scarcely had my mother disappeared, when the earl, fixing upon me a look in which admiration and delight were blended, took my hand, and, in a voice of rapture, exclaimed:—
‘Clara, beauteous Clara! behold before you one who loves you to distraction.’
Although my own feelings and observations had prepared me for this scene, I was so flurried and confused, that I could scarcely contain myself. My bosom heaved—my heart palpitated. Crimson blushes, I am certain, mantled my cheeks; but yet I was unable to withdraw my hand from his hold, which he pressed vehemently to his lips and then continued:—
‘Lovely Clara, pardon this abruptness; often have I longed for this opportunity, but in vain; never before have I had it in my power to declare how the first glance of that enchanting face—’
‘Oh, my lord,’ I faltered out, in tremulous accents, ‘I must not listen to this—leave me, I beseech you.’
‘Leave you, angelic creature!’ replied the earl, emphatically, and still retaining his hold of my hand; ‘leave you! oh, there is madness in the bare thought! I cannot, I will not quit your presence till you have uttered some word of consolation—blessed me with some ray of hope!’
‘I scarcely knew how to answer;—I could not behold the object of my love, kneeling at my feet, and soliciting my sanction to his vows unmoved; the cold dictates of prudence would have told me instantly to give him a decisive answer, and to force myself from his presence, but my heart pleaded against its rigid rules. The earl noticed my emotion, and doubtless saw his triumph, for he continued in more fervent and emboldened terms.
‘But surely the gentle Clara cannot be so cruel as to bid one who is her devoted slave, despair? No—no—she will impart to him a hope—’
‘Hope, my lord,’ I interrupted, recollecting myself, and the remembrance of my mother’s words, and my own assurance, rushing upon my mind; ‘I am a poor girl, the daughter of an humble farmer, and have no right to listen to a man like you. Even were I no longer the mistress of my heart, I trust I am not yet so lost to principle, my lord, as to avow it where it might not be confessed with honor.’