Hamilton heard her murmur the words “ungenerous—unjust.”
“Forgive me, Hildegarde; I spoke in anger, and am sorry for it—I ought not to have named your cousin—can you forgive me?”
She held out her hand in silence.
“Now,” he said, seating himself beside her, “don’t let us ask each other any more questions, or talk any more of sacrifices; but, like a dear love, you will promise to go to England with me to-morrow! won’t you?”
She remained silent, her eyes cast down, while she slowly shook her head.
“You will not?”
“I dare not,” she answered, gently; but observing him again about to start up, she laid her hand on his arm, and continued, “Do not ask me to do what may cause us both unhappiness hereafter. I will enter into an engagement with you on reasonable terms.”
“Oh—on reasonable terms!” he repeated ironically.
“I cannot go on—you are too unkind,” she said, while the tears started to her eyes.
A long and painful pause ensued. Hamilton broke it by saying, “Well, what are your terms—anything is better than nothing—name them—I agree to everything provided I may claim you in two years.”