“Now listen to me, dear Emily. The happiness of my life, and, as I cannot but hope” (charitable hope!), “of yours also, is at stake. I once again tell you that I love you, as I have never loved before—as I shall never love again; that I love you with the one, deep, enduring passion of my lifetime. And I ask you—I adjure you—for both our sakes, to tell me, as truly as the fact will appear on that solemn day when the secrets of all hearts shall be known, do you return my affection?—Emily, dearest, do you love me?”
Well, of course she could not say “No,” for that would have been false; she must say something, for, Sunday-school manner and all, Ernest had become rather awful at last, so there was nothing left for her but to say “Yes,”—-which she did accordingly. That, in fact, settled the question; for, naturally, Ernest decided if she loved him, she must and should marry him; and then he elicited from her that it was the fortune, upon which he observed—
“Very well: that he had hoped and intended to send Percy to college, and to buy Hugh a commission, and to build a church at Satanville, and to despatch a bran-new missionary to Sambobamboo, and to erect some very uncomfortable model cottages for the poor people, and to double Mr. Slowkopf’s salary; but that if Emily persisted in refusing him because of-the fortune, he would that very afternoon make it over by a deed of gift to that fine young man Mr. Peter Crawley, and marry her on the £800 per annum which he received as Rector.”
And so, as it was quite clear that he meant what he said, and was prepared to act up to it, the poor Rosebud was obliged to give in, and consent to accept him fortune and all.
Thus the interview ended as happily as it had begun miserably; and if Ernest didn’t steal a kiss ere he took leave, it must have been because he was a clergyman, and had the fear of the bishop before his eyes;—though if the bishop had been a good-natured one, he would have winked at such an offence—certainly an arch-bishop would have done so!
CHAPTER XVI.—AND LAST.—THE MORAL DRAWN VERY MILD!
Once again it was Christmas-day. At Ashburn Priory the plum-pudding was a “great fact;” Hugh Colville said so, and he ought to have known, for he ate enough, not to say too much, of it to test its merits—at least, if there be any truth in the old proverb, that “the proof of the pudding is in the eating.” But there were other good things at Ashburn Priory beside-plum-pudding. Love and Joy and Peace dwelt there, and pure Religion shed her mild light upon that happy household. The cloud which had hung over the fortunes of the Colville family had passed away, and the silver lining alone remained to testify that, although
“In every life some rain must fall,