'I—I say,' cried Savanna returning, 'dat is, he say, I should be let cook de wedding dinner.'
Adeline, returning even paler than she was before, desired her coldly to leave the room; and, seating herself at the greatest possible distance from Berrendale, leaned for some time in silence on her hand—he not daring to interrupt her meditations. But at last she said, 'What could give rise to this singular conversation between you and Savanna I am wholly at a loss to imagine: still I—I must own that it is not so ill-timed as it would have been some weeks ago. I will own, that since yesterday I have been considering your generous proposals with the serious attention which they deserve.'
On hearing this, which Adeline uttered with considerable effort, Berrendale in a moment was at her side, and almost at her feet.
'I—I wish you to return to your seat,' said Adeline coldly: but hope had emboldened him, and he chose to stay where he was.
'But, before I require you to renew your promises, or make any on my side, it is proper that I should tell you what passed yesterday; and if the additional load of obloquy which I have acquired does not frighten you from continuing your addresses—' Here Adeline paused:—and Berrendale, rather drawing back, then pushing his chair nearer her as he spoke, gravely answered, that his affection was proof against all trials.
Adeline then briefly related the scene in the church-yard, and her conversation with Mrs Beauclerc, and concluded thus:—'In consequence of this, and of the recollections of his advice, and his decided opinion, that by becoming the wife of a respectable man I could alone expect to recover my rank in society, and consequently my usefulness, I offer you my hand; and promise, in the course of a few months, to become yours in the sight of God and man.'
'And from no other reason?—from no preference, no regard for me?' demanded Berrendale reproachfully.
'Oh! pardon me; from decided preference; there is not another being in the creation whom I could bear to call husband.'
Berrendale, gratified and surprised, attempted to take her hand; but, withdrawing it, she continued thus;—'Still I almost scruple to let you, unblasted as your prospects are, take a wife a beggar, blasted in reputation, broken in spirits, with a heart whose best affections lie buried in the grave, and which can offer you in return for your faithful tenderness nothing but cold respect and esteem; one too who is not only despicable to others, but also self-condemned.'
While Adeline said this, Berrendale, almost shuddering at the picture which she drew, paced the room in great agitation; and even the gratification of his passion, used as he was to the indulgence of every wish, seemed, for a moment, a motive not sufficiently powerful to enable him to unite his fate to that of a woman so degraded as Adeline appeared to be; and he would, perhaps, have hesitated to accept the hand she offered, had she not added, as a contrast to the picture which she had drawn—'But if, in spite of all these unwelcome considerations, you persist in your resolution of making me yours, and I have resolution enough to conquer the repugnance that I feel to make a second connexion, you may depend on possessing in me one who will study your happiness and wishes in the minutest particulars;—one who will cherish you in sickness and in sorrow;—' (here a twinge of the gout assisted Adeline's appeal very powerfully;) 'and who, conscious of the generosity of your attachment, and her own unworthiness, will strive, by every possible effort, not to remain your debtor even in affection.'