“Go on, for it is bliss to hear you,” murmured Claude.
“Nay, I have done;—what have I said?” she quietly enquired of him.
“Would you unsay it?” he demanded eagerly.
“Only to say it again,” she answered blushing,—“yet I fear I have babbled strangely;—but, remember, I was never wooed before, nor answered wooer; so, being a novice in love's archery, it may be that the gust of a too ardent breath has caught my words, and from my meaning wafted them awry.”
“And can a fountain yield both bitter and sweet?” demanded Claude: “or are you as changeful as is yon waning moon?” he asked half chidingly.
“Rather consider me to be as is the sun, that knows no change of aspect throughout the livelong year; or, if it vary, swells its orb in winter,” she observed, “even as I would now appear to you with fuller favor, amidst this young acquaintance's chilly prospect.”
“Chilly! it is summer wherever lovers cast their eyes, the bright Bermudas. Do not libel love, nor our sweet fortunes,” cried Claude impetuously: “For me, there never will be winter where you are; and why, when I am with you, should you thus seem to shiver, as it were, in the shadow of November?”
“I am no casuist,” she said, “and yet it would appear to be too selfish in me, too much like to fraud, should I accept all that you offer me, such vast and personal advantage, and for which I bring you no equivalent, no dower, no estate; nothing to counterpoise the wide possessions that you will inherit;—nothing that may conciliate your family, rich in material things and heaped with honors,—save my poor love;—and what were that?”
“More than them all,” ejaculated Claude, “but why these scruples? In human hearts love is not placed against love, as in the scales the commodity is placed against the weight; neither is it exchanged for land, or bartered for position; but it is always given, and is the donor's whole, unmeasured and immeasurable. It is infinite, growing whilst it is being given, even as the horizon grows upon the eye of him who travels towards it. It is because it must be; it is unselfish; nay, unto itself it is unjust; often giving the most where it receives the least; possessing nothing, yet possessing all, if it possesses but all its object's heart. It is towards its object as is the encircling and cloud-breeding sea unto the verdant island, encompassing, and in soft showers, shedding itself over it. As the sea sheds itself in soft showers upon the island, so do I shed my fondness, and would shed my fortune, over you, and in return seek for yourself,—no more, for what more could you give, what more could I receive, who count all else as worthless dross. What hinders then our marriage?”
“Your father,” was replied.