One night she opened her mind to her aunt, and spoke very seriously of her position. "I hardly know what I ought to do," she said. "I know how much I owe him; I know how much he has a right to expect from me. And I would pay him all I owe; I would do my duty by him even at the sacrifice of myself if I could plainly see what my duty is."
"But, Caroline, do you wish to give him up?"
"No, not if I could keep him; keep him as he was. My high hopes are done with; my ambition is over; I no longer look for much. But I would fain know that he still loves me before I marry him. I would wish to be sure that he means to live with me. In his present mood, how can I know aught of him? how be sure of anything?"
Her aunt, after remaining for some half-hour in consideration, at last and with reluctance gave her advice.
"It all but breaks my heart to say so; but, Caroline, I think I would abandon it: I think I would ask him to release me from my promise."
It may well be imagined that Miss Waddington was not herself when she declared that her high hopes were done with, that her ambition was over. She was not herself. Anxiety, sorrow, and doubt—doubt as to the man whom she had pledged herself to love, whom she did love—had made her ill, and she was not herself. She had become thin and pale, and was looking old and wan. She sat silent for awhile, leaning with her head on her hand, and made no answer to her aunt's suggestion.
"I really would, Caroline; indeed, I would. I know you are not happy as you are."
"Happy!"
"You are looking wretchedly ill, too. I know all this is wearing you. Take my advice, Caroline, and write to him."
"There are two reasons against it, aunt; two strong reasons."