“Father!” she said, in a deep voice; and, as she spoke, she planted her arms on his knees, and caught his right hand in both hers:—“Thou think’st I love thee not!”
Sir Edgar’s eyes overflowed. “My child! my darling! not love me!” he cried. “Oh, I know thou dost! I know thou dost!”
“I have been self-willed, dear,” answered Evaline. “Wilt thou forgive me?”
Sir Edgar, bending a little forward, threw his arm round her neck, and pressed his lips to her cheek.
“Shall I forgive thee for being my comforter?” he said. “Thou hast ever been my true darling, and most loving child! What can I forgive thee more?”
“I have denied thee to wed Don Felix,” pursued Evaline. “In good sooth, my heart was then distract, but I will deny it thee no longer. Thou shalt give me to him, father.”
“Our Lady forbid, my poor child!” faltered Sir Edgar.
“Thou shalt! thou shalt!” cried Evaline, trying to smile. “What, wouldst turn on me with mine own waywardness, and cross me for being undutiful?”
Perhaps, Sir Edgar saw, in spite of her smile, which was really more distressing than tears, how biting a sorrow was wringing her tortured heart, and so determined to yield to whatever she should propose. Whatever might be the motive that influenced him, however, he caught her round the waist as she ceased speaking, and, thus holding her, drew her up to his bosom.
“Be it as thou wilt!” he said, in a broken voice.