"Emilia!" he cried.
"Oh! hush," she sighed. "It is not right--it is not right!"
"It cannot be wrong," he said, tenderly, leading her to a sequestered spot. "You are unhappy, Emilia."
"Very very unhappy. And I am born to make others so."
"I will not hear you say that and be silent. You were born to make me happy, and can--if you only will, Amelia; if you only will!"
His ardor, his impetuosity, his sincerity, made her weak. She clung to him for support, and the next moment released herself and stood upright, inwardly reproaching herself, for being so foolish. Had she been the most artful of her sex she could not, all through, have acted more cunningly to fasten the chains which bound him to her; but she was only a weak and innocent girl, and when one such as she meets with a genuine, honest soul like Gerald, love is more powerful than cunning.
"Emilia, why did you not reply to my letter?"
"What letter?" she asked, in surprise.
"The letter I wrote to you. Five days I sent it, and I have counted the minutes. It is not like you, Emilia, to make me suffer so."
She turned her sweet face to him.