I went down on my very knees, and with tears and sobs besought my father to let me be Max's wife.
It was in vain.
“Good night: go to your bed, Dora, and weary me no more.”
I rose, certain now that the time was come when I must choose between two duties—between father and husband; the one to whom I owed existence, the other to whose influence I owed everything that had made me a girl worth living, or worth loving. Such crises do come to poor souls!—God guide them, for He only can.
“Good night, father”—my lips felt dry and stiff—it was scarcely my own voice that I heard, “I will wait—there are still a few days.”
He turned suddenly upon me. “What are you planning? Tell the truth.”
“I meant to do so.” And then, briefly,—for each word came out with pain, as if it were a last breath,—I explained that Dr. Urquhart would have to leave for Canada in a month—that, if we had gained my father's consent, we intended to be married in three weeks, remain a week in England, and then sail.
“And what if I do not give my consent?”
I stopped a moment, and then strength came.
“I must be Max's wife still. God gave us to one another, and God only shall put us asunder.”