'Still silent! You are very unkind, Miss Mowbray,' said Glenmurray; 'I see that I have tired even you out.'
These words, by the agony which they excited, restored to Adeline all her resolution. She ran to Glenmurray; she clasped his burning hands in hers; and as succinctly as possible she related what had passed. When she had finished, Glenmurray was silent; the fretfulness of disease prompted him to say, 'So then, to the relief of strangers you sacrificed the gratification of the man whom you love, and deprived him of the only pleasure he may live to enjoy!' But the habitual sweetness and generosity of his temper struggled, and struggled effectually, with his malady; and while Adeline, pale and trembling, awaited her sentence, he caught her suddenly to his bosom, and held her there a few moments in silence.
'Then you forgive me?' faltered out Adeline.
'Forgive you! I love and admire you more than ever! I know your heart, Adeline; and I am convinced that depriving yourself of the delight of giving me the promised treat, in order to do a benevolent action, was an effort of virtue of the highest order; and never, I trust, have you known, or will you know again, such bitter feelings as you this moment experienced.'
Adeline, gratified by his generous kindness, and charmed with his praise, could only weep her thanks. 'And now,' said Glenmurray, laughing, 'you may bring back the grapes—I am not like Sterne's dear Jenny; if I cannot get pine-apple, I will not insist on eating crab.'
The grapes were brought; but in vain did he try to eat them. At this time, however, he did not send them away without highly commending their flavour, and wishing that he dared give way to his inclinations, and feast upon them.
'O God of mercy!' cried Adeline, bursting into an agony of grief as she reached her own apartment, and throwing herself on her knees by the bed-side, 'Must that benevolent being be taken from me for ever, and must I, must I survive him!'
She continued for some minutes in this attitude, and with her heart devoutly raised to heaven; till every feeling yielded to resignation, and she arose calm, if not contented; when, on turning round, she saw Glenmurray leaning against the door, and gazing on her.
'Sweet enthusiast!' cried he smiling: 'so, thus, when you are distressed, you seek consolation.'
'I do,' she replied: 'Sceptic, wouldst thou wish to deprive me of it?'