“I have considered!” was the impatient reply; “Mother, I have considered, years and years. I have considered, ever since I have been capable of serious reflection. My feelings remain unchanged, as they ever will; and why should I suffer the pain of a delay in giving them vent, which can be productive of no earthly good? No! Before I leave this place, Rose shall hear me.”
“She shall,” said Mrs. Maylie.
“There is something in your manner, which would almost imply that she will hear me coldly, mother,” said the young man.
“Not coldly,” rejoined the old lady; “far from it.”
“How then?” urged the young man. “She has formed no other attachment?”
“No, indeed,” replied his mother; “you have, or I mistake, too strong a hold on her affections already. What I would say,” resumed the old lady, stopping her son as he was about to speak, “is this. Before you stake your all on this chance; before you suffer yourself to be carried to the highest point of hope; reflect for a few moments, my dear child, on Rose’s history, and consider what effect the knowledge of her doubtful birth may have on her decision: devoted as she is to us, with all the intensity of her noble mind, and with that perfect sacrifice of self which, in all matters, great or trifling, has always been her characteristic.”
“What do you mean?”
“That I leave you to discover,” replied Mrs. Maylie. “I must go back to her. God bless you!”
“I shall see you again tonight?” said the young man, eagerly.
“By and by,” replied the lady; “when I leave Rose.”