At that moment my aunt opened wide the door, and stood before us, candle in hand, in shocked and horrified amazement, gazing alternately at Mr. Huntingdon and me—for we had both started up, and now stood wide enough asunder. But his confusion was only for a moment. Rallying in an instant, with the most enviable assurance, he began,—“I beg ten thousand pardons, Mrs. Maxwell! Don’t be too severe upon me. I’ve been asking your sweet niece to take me for better, for worse; and she, like a good girl, informs me she cannot think of it without her uncle’s and aunt’s consent. So let me implore you not to condemn me to eternal wretchedness: if you favour my cause, I am safe; for Mr. Maxwell, I am certain, can refuse you nothing.”
“We will talk of this to-morrow, sir,” said my aunt, coldly. “It is a subject that demands mature and serious deliberation. At present, you had better return to the drawing-room.”
“But meantime,” pleaded he, “let me commend my cause to your most indulgent—”
“No indulgence for you, Mr. Huntingdon, must come between me and the consideration of my niece’s happiness.”
“Ah, true! I know she is an angel, and I am a presumptuous dog to dream of possessing such a treasure; but, nevertheless, I would sooner die than relinquish her in favour of the best man that ever went to heaven—and as for her happiness, I would sacrifice my body and soul—”
“Body and soul, Mr. Huntingdon—sacrifice your soul?”
“Well, I would lay down life—”
“You would not be required to lay it down.”
“I would spend it, then—devote my life—and all its powers to the promotion and preservation—”
“Another time, sir, we will talk of this—and I should have felt disposed to judge more favourably of your pretensions, if you too had chosen another time and place, and let me add—another manner for your declaration.”