"He never was sure of it."
"Yes, Silverbridge; yes. There is not one in the house who does not see that he treats me as though he expected me to be his son's wife. Do you not know that he wishes it?" He fain would not have answered this; but she paused for his answer and then repeated her question. "Do you not know that he wishes it?"
"I think he does," said Silverbridge; "but it can never be so."
"Oh, Silverbridge;—oh, my loved one! Do not say that to me! Do not kill me at once!" Now she placed her hands one on each arm as she stood opposite to him and looked up into his face. "You said you loved me once. Why do you desert me now? Have you a right to treat me like that;—when I tell you that you have all my heart?" The tears were now streaming down her face, and they were not counterfeit tears.
"You know," he said, submitting to her hands, but not lifting his arm to embrace her.
"What do I know?"
"That I have given all I have to give to another." As he said this he looked away sternly, over her shoulder, to the distance.
"That American girl!" she exclaimed, starting back, with some show of sternness also on her brow.
"Yes;—that American girl," said Silverbridge.
Then she recovered herself immediately. Indignation, natural indignation, would not serve her turn in the present emergency. "You know that cannot be. You ought to know it. What will your father say? You have not dared to tell him. That is so natural," she added, trying to appease his frown. "How possibly can it be told to him? I will not say a word against her."