Lucy was silent.
“Answer me, for pity's sake; give me something to help me.”
“You have no right to ask me such a question, but—I have no attachment, Mr. Dodd.”
“Ah! then one word more. Is it because you cannot love me, or because I am poor, and only first mate of an Indiaman?”
“That I will not answer. You have no right to question a lady why she—Stay! you wish to despise me. Well, why not, if that will cure you of this unfortunate—Think what you please of me, Mr. Dodd,” murmured Lucy, sadly.
“Ah! you know I can't,” cried David, despairingly.
“I know that you esteem me more than I deserve. Well, I esteem you, Mr. Dodd. Why, then, can we not be friends? You have only to promise me you will never return to this subject—come!”
“Me promise not to love you! What is the use? Me be your friend, and nothing more, and stand looking on at the heaven that is to be another's, and never to be mine? It is my turn to decline. Never. Betrothed lovers or strangers, but nothing between! It would drive me mad. Away from you, and out of sight of your sweet face, I may make shift to live, and go through my duty somehow, for my mother's and sister's sake.”
“You are wiser than I was, Mr. Dodd. Yes, we must part.”
“Of course we must. I have got my answer, and a kinder one than I deserve; and now what is the polite thing for me to do, I wonder?” David said this with terrible bitterness.